


The Chemistry Between Us

by Bloodspit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Strong Language, Violence, abusive language, jeanmarco, snk, tw abuse, tw violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodspit/pseuds/Bloodspit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is the new kid.  Marco is the football captain </p><p>(Updated tags for violence and homophobia- do not read if you are easily triggered.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Student

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theaceplace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaceplace/gifts).



> Based on a prompt from someone on Skype:
> 
> [12:16:01 PM] apocalypsearisen413: jean is the shy new kid and marco is captain of the football team and they meet in chemistry class and fall in love with each other
> 
> There will be a lot of drama/painstuff but also some fluff. Probably no smut, I'm not experienced in writing that.
> 
> This chapter is from Marco's POV.

Thursdays in high school are typically dull, each hour tending to drag out as time inches closer to the weekend. This particular Spring Thursday afternoon was beautiful and sunny, which made being indoors and in a stuffy classroom even more painful.

Marco Bodt was brushing off the lethargy that threatened to lull him to sleep as he settled in for his last class of the day: AP Chemistry. Some people would think it unfair that he was not only captain of the varsity football team, but that the senior was also quite astute in his studies. But his genuine kindness and charming personality eliminated any jealousy or envy that may have been directed his way. He never judged a person before meeting them himself, and always put every ounce of effort into what he did. Nonetheless, AP Chemistry on a gorgeous spring day, 6th period, and then to have to go to football practice afterwards...he was tired just thinking about it. He let out a sigh as he pulled out his textbook and notes. 

Students shuffled around him as they took their usual seats. Marco sat in the front row near the door, partially because it made it easier for him to not fall prey to distractions but also because he usually needed to get to football practice quickly after class. He had a sneaky suspicion there might be a pop quiz today, so he was skimming over the review section of the chapter they'd just studied, making last minute mental notes of what he'd had trouble remembering the night before. He didn't look up when the bell rang, even as the teacher called for everyone to quiet down.

"Class..." Professor Arlert said softly, and the chatter quieted down to a murmur. Even though he was rather young and small in stature, everyone respected him because he was probably the smartest person in the town. He also was extremely helpful and empathetic towards others' situations, which made him a favorite among the student body and faculty alike. There was no need for him to raise his voice or blow a whistle to get the attention of the classroom: a gentle request on his part subdued them into near silence, aside from the flipping of pages or the scrape of a chair.

"Good afternoon, class!" Prof. Arlert said cheerfully. "Before we dive right into Kinetic Molecular Theory, which I know you're all super excited about--" this elicited a sarcastic "yeah, really" from the back of the class and a couple of groans and giggles. Marco just smiled, still poring over last night's material while listening. "I'd like to introduce a new classmate of yours that will be joining us from now on." This was enough to entice Marco's curiosity, and he closed his textbook and looked up at last. After all, it was unusual to have a student transfer into school in the middle of the school year. Although, April can hardly be considered the middle of the school year. There was only a month and a half left until summer break. Why had someone decided to transfer into another school so late in the year, interrupting their studies and social life? 

The question was put out of Marco's mind the minute his gaze fell upon the new student standing next to Prof. Arlert. In fact, everything was pretty much put on pause for Marco for a few split seconds as he took in the view. His buzzing thoughts were abandoned, his breath refused to evacuate his lungs, and his heart all but stopped beating. The young man being introduced wore a hard expression on his face, but that didn't change the fact that he was absolutely stunning.  
His hair was dark and close cropped underneath, with longer sandy blonde hair on top pushed against his forehead by a red beanie. Marco's brain rebooted itself in time to briefly wonder if it was dyed or naturally two-toned. Below the sandy hair that flopped over onto his forehead were two sharp eyebrows followed by a pair of gorgeous, honey colored eyes. He had on a grey sweatshirt beneath an unzipped brown, leather bomber jacket, dark skinny jeans and old worn-out chucks. Slung over one shoulder haphazardly was a grey backpack. Everything looked sort of overly-worn or disheveled, except the beanie, which was pristine in comparison. 

"Class, this is Jean Kirschtein." Prof. Arlert looked at Jean expectantly, but Jean just glanced over at him, then back to the class, cleared his throat and nodded. Marco heard more than a few people whispering behind him. "Ah...Jean, why don't you take the empty seat next to Marco?" Marco's chest tightened upon hearing his name, and Prof. Arlert motioned to the empty desk next to Marco. No one really liked sitting at either end of the front row, it seems: that desk, as well as the one at the other end, had remained unoccupied the entire semester. 

As if to make up for all the beats it had missed in the last minute, Marco's heart began pounding fiercely and erratically. He felt his breath return with the same fervor, and hoped his face was within its normal range of color. With a non-comittal shrug, Jean readjusted the backpack on his shoulder and made his way over to the empty desk. The whispering stopped once Prof. Arlert called for everyone to open to the current chapter. Marco could rest assured that there would be no pop quiz on the day a new student had just joined, and so felt no need to continue his last minute review. As Prof. Arlert turned and began writing key words on the dry-erase board, a nagging thought wriggled its way into Marco's mind...

He glanced surreptitiously over at Jean's desk and immediately his fears were confirmed: he didn't have a text book yet. His stomach somersaulted at the fact that since there was no one sitting on his other side, he would be lost unless Marco offered to share. Marco was very level-headed and hardly ever got nervous, so was oddly under-prepared when it comes to acting under pressure. He swallowed and felt his pulse quicken as he leaned over to whisper to Jean.

"Hey, do you want to share?" he offered, pointing to his textbook with a friendly smile, trying his best to sound calm.

Jean looked up from his blank notebook and his amber eyes met Marco's. For a moment, he did nothing, just stared, and Marco was worried that he'd say no. Then, with a slight blush spreading over his face, Jean nodded and whispered a simple "Thanks." He scooted his desk closer to Marco's so they could both see the book, their shoulders bumping slightly as he got comfortable. This evoked even more hushed chatter behind them. Jean smelled like soap and pine needles. Marco felt his ears burn, and hoped that Jean couldn't feel his rising body temperature from such a close proximity. 

The class went by too quickly for Marco, considering he'd just been dreading a whole hour of AP Chemistry. The bell rang and everyone began shuffling papers and chatting animatedly. Jean moved his desk back to its original position as Marco was putting his book back in his backpack. 

"Hey," a husky voice said to Marco's left. He looked up from his bag and saw Jean staring at him, his backpack returned to its place on his shoulder. Jean shifted his weight to his other foot and looked down at his feet briefly.

"Hey," Marco returned, unsure if Jean was waiting for him to respond.

"Thanks for today. I think I'da been shit outta luck without your help." Jean finished that off with a small smile as he blushed just slightly, almost imperceptibly. 

"Oh. Oh! It was no problem!" Marco replied quickly with a laugh. "It's unfortunate that you couldn't get your book before hand. Do you know when you'll be able to get it?" 

"Yeah I'm gonna go get it right now actually, I just haven't had time yet." Jean stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Oh.." Marco tried to not sound disappointed. "Well, if you ever need to study or look at my notes, you can just ask." He sighed internally, knowing that Jean would probably never take him up on those offers.

"Um, yeah that sounds cool. Maybe we could study for the next test or something. Seems like you know your shit" Jean replied and then he laughed and it was the best sound Marco had ever heard. He felt his chest flutter with pleasure, at the sound of Jean's laughter and that he might be able to spend more time with him. Marco realized then that if he stayed any longer, he'd be late for practice. He apologetically told Jean he had to go, and headed out the door without hesitation. However, as he was on his way to the locker room, he looked over his shoulder in time to see Jean leaving the classroom, a gentle smile on his lips and his beautiful eyes cast downward at the ground.

His heart throbbed in his chest at seeing his smile again. This Thursday had certainly been anything but dull.


	2. Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV of the first chapter.

Jean made his way quickly to his last class of the first day at his new school, allowing himself extra time in case he got lost. He also wanted a chance to speak to the teacher to see what chapter they'd been studying recently.

Thankfully, his partial work from his last school had been transferable for every class. AP French, Calculus, History and Economics were studying pretty much the same stuff as his last school. English would be a bit tricky as they were in the middle of an entirely different book, but he figured he'd be okay in that too. He was really only worried about AP Chemistry: if they hadn't gotten as far as his other teacher, he should be okay. Repeating work was easier than having to catch up. It would be extremely difficult to understand the lecture if they had gotten farther than he had.

With dread gnawing at his insides, he navigated the packed halls and located his last class. Once inside, he spoke with the teacher, who turned out to be super cool about everything to Jean's relief. They were only one chapter ahead of his last class, but Prof. Arlert took a couple of minutes to explain what they were working on. As the bell was ringing, Prof. Arlert reassured him that he'd known he was starting today, so he had planned a review lecture rather than his usual pop quiz. 

His relief was short-lived as Prof Arlert, like every damn teacher at this school, had insisted on introducing him and making a big scene. Jean stood nervously at the front of the class, still not used to having so much attention even after 5 times already. He'd always had stage fright....

He tried not to make eye contact with any one person, instead electing to focus on a bulletin board at the back of the class. Prof. Arlert introduced him to the class, and after glancing over at him, Jean tried for the sixth time that day to act normal and greet a classroom full of people. He'd almost given up, because what was really the point? He wasn't going to make any friends in the next month and a half, and he never knew when he'd have to move again anyways. So there was no point in him being friendly, in being social, in being anything at all.

His throat was suddenly dry and tight, causing him to try and clear it. His eyes prickled a bit and the dryness in his throat was replaced with an aching burn. Words would be impossible now, so he just nodded, trying not to pass out under the pressure of every pair of eyes upon him.  
"Ah...Jean, why don't you take the empty seat next to Marco?" Prof. Arlert said, As he shrugged and made his way to the seat assigned to him, he took notice of the person next to whom he'd be sitting.

Marco was what the teacher had called him. The tan boy's face was tinged pink (probably from the heat) underneath a generous spattering of freckles. The way his white shirt clung to his sculpted arms and chest, revealing the shape and contour of each muscle beneath, was perfect. His dark hair was parted neatly, and Jean wondered what it would look like all messed up. Marco's brown eyes were focused on the white board as he took down in his notes each word the teacher was writing without looking down. He wore loose khaki pants and Adidas tennis shoes. Must be in an athletic club of some sort, Jean surmised.

Jean took out his own notebook, intent on catching up and trying not to be distracted by the eye candy sitting next to him. Just then, Mr. Eye Candy Marco himself leaned in towards him, and Jean felt heat rising up into his face.

"Hey, do you want to share?" Marco whispered with a smile. His smile was every bit as gorgeous as the rest of him, and his nose crinkled a little bit, which seemed really genuine to Jean for some reason. When you smile without feeling it, you don't smile with your whole face like Marco was. He knew all too well what a fake smile looked like, and also what it felt like. A warm feeling filled his chest, appreciative of the fact that Marco was able to smile so wholeheartedly at him.

Jean finally remembered that Marco had asked him a question, and seeing it as an excuse to get closer to the handsome young man, he nodded and managed to force out a single word: "Thanks." He scooted his chair closer to Marco, more excited than he'd been all day. He tried not to get ahead of himself, but there was no helping it. Marco's arm brushed against him, sending shivers through his body. All throughout the lecture, Marco would helpfully point things out to him in the book as the teacher mentioned them, or write out a brief explanation in his notes for Jean. It was great having him as a guide, and he was able to actually learn despite the jitters he got every time Marco murmured something to him, his minty breath tickling Jeans neck as he leaned in to speak. He didn't even care that people were whispering obviously behind them. It was now official: 6th period would be the class he looked forward to every day.

After class ended, Marco had his back turned to Jean and was getting his stuff together when Jean finally worked up the courage to thank him properly. "Hey." Phew, he thought. One word at a time...He shuffled his feet nervously.

"Hey" Marco said as he turned around, pausing with his book halfway in his bag.

Jean tried really hard to sound casual about it. "Thanks for today. I think I'da been shit outta luck without your help." He thought again about how close Marco had been throughout the lecture, and smiled as a blush began to spread across his cheeks. 

"Oh. Oh! It was no problem!" Marco laughed at that and his flushed face turned even redder. Maybe Marco was just as nervous as he had been, and it wasn't just the heat making him blush? Probably not. "It's unfortunate that you couldn't get your book before hand. Do you know when you'll be able to get it?" 

"Yeah I'm gonna go get it right now actually, I just haven't had time yet." Jean felt his hands getting clammy, and instead of wiping them on his pants, decided to shove them in his pockets.

"Oh.." Marco said quietly. "Well, if you ever need to study or look at my notes, you can just ask." 

Jean tried not to sound overly excited in his reply, but the truth was, he hadn't expected to make a single friend here. So having met someone so awesome on the first day was more than he could have asked for. "Um, yeah that sounds cool. Maybe we could study for the next test or something. Seems like you know your shit" Jean laughed, relieved that he wouldn't be entirely alone in this new school. Even though he was obviously attracted to Marco, he wasn't going to mess it up by making a move on him. Marco probably didn't even like guys. But being friends was more than enough.

Suddenly Marco's eyes widened, and he explained that he had to get to football practice right away. Bingo! Football. Jean had known with that body of his, he had to be an athlete of some sort. It was too late for Jean to join sports, but if he'd been able to, he'd probably just join baseball. He did well as a receiver in football but was never too enthusiastic about the sport. At least not up until now.

With his stuff already packed, he had no reason to stick around. He left the classroom with a smile on his face, thinking of how his first day had gone much better than he'd expected.


	3. You are my sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two nerds bein' nerdy together. Fluff before the real storm hits...
> 
> I'm kinda just trying to write all of this quickly, I'll check later for spelling or grammatical errors.

April is a fickle month, and as gorgeous as Thursday had been, Friday was the opposite. Heavy wind buffeted against students on their way to class, making it impossible to even open an umbrella to shield against the thick raindrops. As a result, nearly everyone was wet and cold and miserable. Football practice had been cancelled but Marco still had to endure the weather for the sake of his education.

By the time lunch had rolled around, the bottom of Marco's jeans were pretty much soaked. He felt the damp denim sticking to his ankles and grumbled in discomfort. Even though the day was ugly and his pants were waterlogged, Marco still had reason to be happy. Ever since chemistry class yesterday, he hadn't been able to get Jean out of his mind. He'd been distracted during football practice too, for which his coach had called him out. "Get your head in the game or get your ass off the field, Bodt!" Coach Levi chastised him as messed up and tripped during one of their drills. That evening, he'd had to keep forcing himself to return his attention to his schoolwork, something that he could usually do in one sitting. Laying in bed later that night, he thought about all of the things he wanted to ask Jean the next day.

Marco knew his feelings for Jean were beyond the friendship he felt for anyone else, but he had barely even talked to the guy. He'd never considered himself gay before, but he hadn't ruled it out either. Sure, he'd found people beautiful or handsome, but there just had never been anyone to whom he was attracted...until now. Liking someone this much after having just met them was ridiculous! He vowed to himself to get to know Jean Kirschtein better in the next month and a half to make sure his feelings were justified. Did he like or potentially love Jean, or just lust after him? Only time would tell.

Marco cracked a grin as he sat down with a group of friends for lunch. The table was boisterous and alive with activity: Ymir was spoon-feeding a reluctant Christa, Sasha and Connie were in the middle of some strange competition involving chocolate milk, Reiner had his arm around Bertholdt as they talked, and Annie was reading while methodically eating her sandwich one bite at a time and rotating after each bite, so the last piece she ate was the exact center of the sandwich (she ate everything this way). They all had their weird quirks, but they all proved to be really good friends to Marco. And as he took a seat, everyone at the table smiled, waved, or greeted him. 

He was about to ask Annie what it was that she was reading when he saw out of the corner of his eye a certain sandy-haired young man trying to find an empty table to eat at. Marco waved a little bit to get his attention, and beckoned him over to their table. Jean looked relieved to have somewhere to sit, and joined them readily, removing the earbuds that had been blasting into his ears.

As he sat down, the people at the table slowly ceased whatever they were doing and began looking expectantly between Marco and Jean. Finally, Ymir spoke up.

"Hey, new kid. You're in my English class. How's it going?" She flashed a showy grin at him and leaned on her elbow.

Jean's brow creased angrily, and the corners of his mouth turned down into a grimace. A little blush crawled over his cheeks, but other than that, he looked positively intimidating.

"Oooo-kay, never mind" she replied with a huff, and turned her attention back to Christa. No one else at the table paid him any mind after that, and the rowdy group resumed their respective activities.

"Are you okay?" Marco said quietly to Jean, who had just stuffed a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Jean turned to look at Marco and nodded, attempting to quickly swallow his bite so he could answer more thoroughly. He coughed on the bite and, after taking a swig of milk, answered hoarsely "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, you just looked really upset at Ymir and I was wondering if it was something she'd said?" Marco tilted his head in concern, and to get a better look at Jean.

Jean's face relaxed and his eyebrows shot up. "Shit, did I? No, I'm not upset. I just..." he averted his gaze as the blush threatened to overtake his face. "I'm just shy sometimes and I don't know how to talk to people, so instead I just clamp up. And I guess sometimes I'm trying so hard to focus on what I should do that my face just ends up looking like that out of sheer concentration" and then he laughed at himself and muttered "...it's stupid."

Marco exhaled and turned away. "Is that all? You looked about ready to murder someone. Must be some serious concentrating you're doing" and Marco chuckled at the idea that someone who looked so serious was really just shy. "You're talking to me fine though, what's that about?" he wondered aloud.

Jean continued eating, his face less tense, and answered nonchalantly with his mouth full, "I dunno, I guess you're easy to talk to. I don't get as nervous around you like I do with other people." And Jean continued to shovel food into his mouth as though what he had just said was not extremely touching to Marco. It was ironic too, since Marco was only ever nervous around Jean.

Marco cleared his throat. "So, what were you listening to?" he asked, finally returning his attention to his own food.

"Mmm" Jean moaned, motioning that he was finishing his bite but intended to answer. Marco tried to convince himself that moaning with a mouth full of broccoli was in no way sensual...he was not convinced.

"I dunno, whatever played on my i-pod I guess. I've had it for years and I never delete shit, so there's no telling what will start playing. I mean, it was playing Beethoven's 7th symphony just now, but before that it was playing fucking Billy Idol. I like to define my taste in music as 'if it sounds good, I listen to it.'" They both laughed a little bit, and continued eating in comfortable silence. 

Annie suddenly slammed her book shut, startling everyone at the table, and with her signature straight face, she looked right at Jean and Marco and said, "time for class." Not a split second after she'd said that, the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch. She stood up with her book in hand, making a perfect shot with her milk carton into the trash can. Reiner shrugged and followed suit, with Bertholdt close behind. Everyone else at the table was still left in a moment of awe at Annie's superhuman internal clock.

Marco gathered his trash, fighting back the disappointment that every moment he spent with Jean seemed to pass too quickly. He felt like he'd never have enough time to really talk with him.

"Hey, see you in sixth period." he said in resignation, and as Jean was getting ready to go, Marco noticed that Jean's pant legs were tucked into his high tops to keep them dry. It looked a little odd, but his pants were considerably dryer than Marco's. "Hey that's a good idea actually," he said, pointing with his chin and looking down at Jean's shoes. Jean bent to look down at his own feet, and after glancing at Marco's miserably wet pants, brought a fist up to his mouth to fight back a snicker. "Oh, laugh all you want" Marco teased playfully, smacking him on the arm. Jean coughed a little bit, and replied with a grin "Yeah. See you later, man." Marco headed to Spanish class, eager to get through the next hour quickly so he could see Jean again. 

\----------

It's not as though he hated Chemistry class, but Marco had honestly never looked forward to 6th period so much. The minutes ticked by painfully through 5th period until, finally, he was out the door not long after the bell had rung. He didn't need to stop by his locker because he had grabbed his Chemistry book along with his Spanish book after lunch. Not even a minute later, he was in Professor Arlert's classroom before the stragglers from the previous class had even left. His face burned a little bit in embarrassment as they looked at him strangely, wondering why he was there so early. He took his seat and closed his eyes, catching his breath that he only now noticed was a bit short from rushing over.

It doesn't make sense, but for some reason, he had thought that getting there early would mean he'd have more time to talk with Jean before class started. Of course, that would also require Jean to be there just as early. Brilliant, he thought to himself. You are a true genius.

 

It may have been a lapse in judgement on his part, but believe it or not, within thirty seconds of him getting there, he heard the rustle of clothes and the squeak of shoes on linoleum as someone sat next to him and cleared their throat. 

Marco's eyes snapped open to the sight of Jean grinning mischievously.

"Catching some beauty sleep?" Jean asked, fluttering his eyelashes at Marco.

"Ha!" Marco barked out, louder than he had intended. Seeing Jean there so soon had surprised him a little bit... "Do I really need it?" he pouted playfully in return.

Jean's eyebrows relaxed a little, and his grin settled into a gentle smile. "No, not really."

Marco was taken aback by Jean's abrupt compliment. Maybe he was just being playful? Marco got the feeling that he wasn't, or maybe he just hoped he wasn't. Either way, he had to struggle somewhat to keep himself from hyperventilating at the thought that Jean thought he was beautiful. Or handsome, or whatever. Good-looking, at least.

A moment of silence grew between them as Marco searched for something to say to keep the conversation going. "Oh, hey! So did you get your book yesterday?" he inquired.

Jean stared at him for a second, his mouth hanging slack before he spoke. "No," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and elaborated, "Uh, no, I mean yes. I got it but I left it in my locker." He nodded, smacking his head lightly. "What a fuckin joke!"

Marco's heart thumped violently against his rib cage as he realized that he'd be sharing his book with Jean again. Be cool, he told himself. He pulled out his textbook and gave Jean a smug look. "Mr. Kirschtein, what are we going to do with you?"

Jean blushed deeply and began rummaging in his own bag for supplies. Marco would never admit it, but he swore he saw in Jean's bag a corner of the distinct mustard-yellow Chemistry textbook Jean had said he'd left in his locker. Marco's heart swelled inside his chest, dangerously close to exploding out of his body with excitement.

Friday's lesson was a bit more rigorous than Thursday's had been, and Marco noticed that Jean's face was scrunched up in concentration for much of the class. They barely talked or exchanged notes, because Marco didn't want to distract Jean from his studies, and he needed to pay attention too to avoid missing something important.

The last bell rang and startled half the class out of their focused state. Even Professor Arlert hadn't noticed the end of the class period sneaking up on him. Everyone let loose whatever breath they were holding in from exertion or stress or confusion, and starting packing their things. Even thought it was finally the weekend, the weather outside made it difficult to enjoy their brief freedom. Jean had his stuff packed and ready to go, and Marco looked over to find Jean watching him as he finished stuffing everything into his bag.

"You waiting for me?" he asked cheerfully, hoping the answer was yes.

"I'm not waiting for anyone else, if that's what you're asking." Jean replied. 

"Haha, brat!" Marco laughed and zipped up his bag. "Thanks." He added, making sure that Jean knows he meant no real offense. "Did you get everything Prof. Arlert was saying today?" he asked offhandedly as they left the warmth of the classroom and were immediately bombarded by rain. 

"Ahhhh no not really" Jean admitted as they jogged over to the nearest covered locker-filled hallway. 

"Do you want to come over to my house to study up a bit? I have a feeling we're going to get a pop quiz on Monday." Marco's body was shaking from adrenaline of having just extended the offer.

Jean's face lit up, and almost immediately, his smile faltered, and he looked crestfallen. "Shit, man I'd love to, but I just..." he rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his feet. "I have something I have to do and I can't. B-But I'm free tomorrow if you're cool with that?" He stuttered a bit on his words, a pleading expression on his face.

"Of course!" Marco beamed as he reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. After unlocking it and hitting a few buttons, he held it out for Jean. "Unless you're psychic, it's probably a good idea to exchange phone numbers."

After a moment's hesitation, Jean took Marco's phone and punched his number. He did the same with his own phone, handing it over to Marco and saying "What, you think psychics don't use cell phones, Bodt? This is the 21st century, get with the times."

They walked to the front of the school, chatting about music and school and Marco's friends. When they got to the front gates, they both just stood there for a second, reluctant to part ways. Finally, Jean smiled and sighed heavily, condensation forming in the air around his mouth. He waved to Marco as he walked away. "See you."

Marco waved back even though Jean had turned away. "Yeah, see you." When he got home, he peeled off his wet clothes and went straight to bed, like a kid on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.


	4. The things I'd do to you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is in way over his head, and he's perfectly okay with that.

There was nothing worse than having to walk to school in a downpour. At least Jean didn't think so until he stepped outside of his apartment and face first into a gust of rainwater. Nope, it was definitely worse when there were high-speed winds to boot. He hastily slammed the door shut, the wind practically demanding him to let it in. Jean groaned in anticipation, depositing his useless umbrella on the floor as he knelt down to shove the ends of his pants into his red high tops. He had to keep arguing with himself as to why it was worth his time to walk 2 miles through a fucking hurricane just to suffer through 8 hours of torture while shivering in wet clothes, only to have to walk 2 miles back in what might as well be the worst storm of the century (okay, so maybe Jean has somewhat of a penchant for exaggeration): 

“A mind is a terrible thing to waste...” he debated, removing his fleece sweatshirt and opting for a bright red windbreaker. “But what have you got if you haven’t got your health?” He replied, challenging himself to come up with something better. “Fucckkk it’s only day two! I can’t stay home after one day. Plus I have assignments to turn in!” He berated the disgruntled reflection that scowled back at him from a hanging mirror, trying to dig up some motivation to leave. “But I pretty much know what’s going to be discussed in class today, and I can just ask mom to call in sick for me.” He extended his lower lip in a pout. He could actually feel the energy seeping out of his body with each raindrop that trickled its path down the window pane, and the go-to-school side of the debate was starting to lack any viability. “Sleeping in.....” he moaned, slapping his palms against the wall and throwing his head back lazily as he let his whole body sag listlessly for a moment. His last attempt at convincing himself to stay almost did the trick, until he remembered 6th period chemistry, and a certain football player who had been running through his dreams all night, making Jean’s sleep restless yet not unpleasant. Not to mention all the smiling Marco had done, and laughing, the whispering in his ear, the kissing that had began gingerly along Jean’s neck, moved up his jaw with more urgency, and to his mouth... how Marco’s hand found its way to Jean’s leg, and higher still....and that’s when Jean woke up and had to rub one out. “Shiiiit....” he hissed and let his arms fall to each side in defeat. He stomped out into the unwelcoming storm, bracing the collar of his windbreaker for impact and hoping that the brisk and dreary walk to school would be enough to calm his residual desire.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Jean spent the first half of the day lamenting his decision to leave the house that morning. His pants had remained dry, though his high tops had not been spared. He sighed, and wistfully murmured “sleeping in...” as he shuffled slowly through the cafeteria line, Beethoven blasting in his eardrums. Lunch had never been so dramatic, each motion of the students around him punctuated by stirring violins and powerful cello pumps. Eventually, he made it out of the line with his food and was ready to indulge in any distraction from his soggy sneakers. He looked around for a place to sit so he could devour his food to Ludwig’s finest, and was reminded again of why he had bothered to show up. Marco was waving him over from across the cafeteria and patting the seat next to him at a very full and very lively table. Something in his pants stirred as images of last night's dreams bombarded him. “Down boy” he whispered to himself, and navigated to where Marco was beckoning him to sit. 

It didn't take long for his libido to subside. I guess you could say having a bunch of strangers stare you down wordlessly is kind of a bonerkill. The tall, freckled, tan girl at the table leaned over towards him confidently and greeted him with a sly grin. "Hey, new kid. You're in my English class. How's it going?"” Actually, you know what, it’s not even any better when people are talking. Worse, really. Now the feeling that was wriggling inside him was not that of sexual restraint but of sheer fucking panic. _Shit - I don’t remember her - What do I say??? I can't just tell her that, everyone will think I’m a self-absorbed asshole! Because she fucking remembered me but I've seen so many new faces that it's all just a blur to me.. and I'm a bullshit liar and can’t fake it or play it cool. Shit it’s been like two minutes, maybe everyone will forget she asked me something and I can just eat my food in peace._ Jean sat there silently, his brow having furrowed so hard his face felt like it was collapsing in on itself. There was no danger of him pitching a tent now that all of the blood in his body decided to migrate to his cheeks, which felt like they might spontaneously combust. Great, he was going to have to go home and explain to his mother why his face had been replaced by a hot, smoldering crater and he’s going to have to tell her it’s because a strange girl asked him “How’s it going?” and he had no idea who she was. _FUUUUUCCCKKKK MEEEEEEE!_

After what felt like an agonizing eternity of awkward silence, wherein the tan girl’s smile had long-since settled into a disdainful grimace and various people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, she acquiesced his silent plea for her to leave him alone forever. "Oooo-kay, never mind" she mumbled, rolling her eyes as she returned her attention to the adorable, petite blonde beside her. As though on cue, everyone at the table resumed what they had been doing before Jean had arrived. Jean started in on his food, hoping to escape the reality of what just happened by drowning it out with mashed potatoes. 

Just as Jean had taken his first bite, Marco leaned in and gently whispered "Are you okay?" 

Normally, Jean would be pissed that someone had engaged him in conversation after he had clearly just stuffed a ridiculously generous spoonful of food into his mouth. But the irritation never bubbled up with Marco like it did with other people. He was by far the least offensive person Jean had ever met. Plus, with Marco leaning in like he was, Jean was afforded a better view of those stunning freckles that blazed a trail along the handsome bridge of his nose, and followed the curve of his jaw, scattering like millions of stars down his neck before disappearing beneath his collar. If only Jean could trace the rest of the freckles beneath Marco's shirt.....

And so, Jean couldn't hold it against Marco, and felt compelled to answer him as quickly as possible, nodding at first, then replying in more detail once he’d washed everything down with a gulp of milk. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" he managed to croak out.

"Well, you just looked really upset at Ymir and I was wondering if it was something she'd said?" Marco tilted his head inquisitively.

Jean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Shit, did I? No, I'm not upset. I just..." he thought back to his internal struggle and felt the flush creeping back into his face. "I'm just shy sometimes and I don't know how to talk to people, so instead I just clamp up. And I guess sometimes I'm trying so hard to focus on what I should do that my face just ends up looking like that out of sheer concentration" and then he laughed bashfully before adding "...it's stupid."

Marco exhaled heavily as his shoulders slumped with relief. "Is that all? You looked about ready to murder someone. Must be some serious concentrating you're doing" then Marco let out the cutest chuckle that melted away all of the stress Jean had created for himself in the last 5 minutes "You're talking to me fine though, what's that about?" he pointed out. 

Jean finally felt relaxed enough to continue eating, and with his mouth full replied, "I dunno, I guess you're easy to talk to. I don't get as nervous around you like I do with other people." _Well, that’s not entirely true. I do get nervous around you,_ Jean thought, _but it’s a different kind of nervous...a good kind. I don’t over-analyze what I should do or say. It all comes naturally to me when you’re around._ Jean chewed his broccoli pensively.

They spent the rest of lunch talking about music and books and Professor Arlert. "Yeah, he's pretty cool. Everyone seems to like him." Marco said while finishing off his sandwich. "Yup, he went over some stuff with me yesterday before class. I think I'll actually be ok with him teaching and you sitting next to me." Out of nowhere, a short, serious looking blonde girl at the table slammed shut the book she had been reading, which Jean noted was a well-worn, dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. "Time for class," she droned out in a chilling monotone right as the bell rang, startling Jean even more than when she'd slammed the book shut. _Holy shit..._ Jean sat stunned for a moment as people around him shuffled about with varying amounts of urgency to get to their next class. After regaining their composure, he and Marco did the same.

Marco turned to him, a half-smile on his face, and sighed, "Hey, see you in sixth period." They smiled at each other, Jean nodded and was about to head off when Marco gestured at his tucked in pant-legs. "Hey that's a good idea actually," he crooned admiringly. Jean stole a glance at Marco's waterlogged pants and had to fight back the peal of laughter that threatened to come bursting forth. What coalesced from his efforts was a stifled, snickering sort of giggle, sounding almost mischievous. "Oh, laugh all you want" Marco teased, slapping him on the arm playfully. This sudden contact caught Jean off-guard for a moment, causing him to choke on his own spit. _Very smooth, Kirschtein,_ he chided himself. Still, he was able to recover enough to muster up a passable farewell of, "Yeah. See you later, man." They headed off to their classes, minds occupied with thoughts of each other.

\----------

As the bell rang for him to head to his last class, Jean hastily cleared his desk with one arm, scooping everything into the same backpack he'd been using for 4 years and made a bee-line straight for chemistry, his wet soles slapping through puddles without slowing. 

Even though the classroom was clear across campus, he got there within two minutes, and was surprised to see Marco had beat him to it. He was sitting at his usual desk, his head titled back somewhat with his eyes closed, his chest visibly rising and falling and his cheeks somewhat flushed. Jean took one last moment to admire Marco's resting form, imagining what it would be like to lift that shirt up over Marco's chest, exposing and exploring his soft flesh with his hands. He imagined Marco throwing his head back and moaning as Jean pressed his lips against his toned body. He shook the thought from his mind reluctantly before trudging over to his desk, shoes squeaking against the linoleum. 

"Catching some beauty sleep?" Jean asked with a teasing expression as he took a seat and dropped his backpack to the ground with a thud. 

Marco's eyes snapped open and he turned to Jean, his breath hitching for just an instant before escaping as a surprised laugh. "Do I really need it?" he tilted his head and extended his lower lip in a pouting smile.

Jean reminisced about all of Marco's features that he'd been admiring throughout the day, and of how easy it was to be around him, and how he was never anxious about talking with him. He felt a warmth beyond desire growing within him. Was it crazy to be so in-tune with someone after only knowing them for a day? Was it crazy that Jean already knew he'd do anything to make Marco happy, even it meant keeping his growing infatuation to himself in order to maintain a friendship? He couldn't help but smile at this realization, and didn't even care at what Marco might think when he replied sincerely. "No, not really," he hummed in response. Marco didn't say anything, but gave Jean another one of those crinkle-nosed smiles as the pink in his cheeks made a comeback. 

When Marco asked if he'd managed to get his chemistry book, Jean couldn't help himself. Before he knew it, he was telling him some bullshit lie about how he'd left it in his locker, when in reality, he had grabbed it from his locker before heading to 5th period. He thought Marco might call him out for it, that he'd see it on his face like every time his mother had ever since he was a kid. It was because of the fact that he was so unconvincing with lies that honesty tended to be his policy, but some things were worth lying for! And getting to spend the next hour enticingly close to Marco was one of them.

Thankfully, Marco didn't quite have the intuition that Jean's mother did. "Mr. Kirschtein, what are we going to do with you?" he huffed in mock reprehension, grabbing Jean's desk to pull him closer. Jean was surprised at Marco's strength in pulling him, desk and all, right up alongside himself, and attempted to hide the blush he felt coming on by turning towards his backpack and retrieving his notebook. Jean hadn't blushed so much in 48 hours, he was worried he would have an aneurysm. Please don't let my brain explode in the next hour, he prayed silently.

Well, if Jean's brain were to explode during chemistry, it would be because of the amount of concentration and cogitation it took to keep up with Professor Arlert's lecture that day and not because the amount of blood rushing to his head from brushing up against Marco's arm exceeded the internal pressure his cranium could withstand. Marco kept quieter than the day before, his hand barely pausing its rapid yet tidy scrawling. He couldnt tell if he was also struggling to keep up or if he was just being considerate of the necessity for Jean to be 100 percent focused on the lesson. Towards the end of the class, however, Marco leaned over and whispered to Jean that he'd forgotten one of the steps in the process Professor Arlert had been teaching them that day, motioning with his pencil where the missing step should belong. "Oh...crap I didn't even notice, thanks. Can I see what you've got?" Marco nodded, putting a star next to the missing step on his own notes. Before Marco could pass him his notes, Jean took the initiative and instead leaned in over Marco's shoulder to get a better view. He inhaled as deeply as he could without it seeming weird, memorizing Marco's scent again while scribbling down the words without even registering what they meant. The bell rang for the end of class, jarring him out of his stupor just as he had lost his will to concentrate on the lesson. Everyone seemed a bit surprised that the class was already over, Professor Arlert not excluded. Just as before, Jean cleared his desk with one swoop, careful to not expose the textbook he'd lied about. Thankfully, Marco wasn't even looking his way because he was busy carefully placing each item gently into his backpack. The kid was so organized he probably alphabetized his socks by color.

Marco glanced over at Jean as he finished packing up. "You waiting for me?" he asked cheerfully.

"I'm not waiting for anyone else, if that's what you're asking." Jean smirked.

"Haha, brat!" Marco giggled and zipped up his bag. "Thanks... Did you get everything Prof. Arlert was saying today?"

"Ahhhh no not really..." Jean had barely been able to keep up taking notes, much less processing the information that he was receiving. He couldn't even remember half of what he'd written down.

Marco probably already had the feeling though, seeing as how he had noticed Jean's mistake. And then, something miraculous happened. Marco asked Jean if he'd like to come over to his house to study since his practice had been canceled. Not only was Marco pleasant to be around, he was also a fucking genius. A genius that wanted to spend his own personal time helping Jean, though to be honest, it would be even more difficult concentrating on formulas and compounds when it was just the two of them. Jean would never do anything indecent, especially if he thought it might make Marco uncomfortable, but that's not to say that his mind would behave as well. His face hurt from how much he was smiling.

It was only when he thought about texting his mom to let her know that he realized he'd have to decline. Disappointment wiped the smile from his face when he remembered insisting to his mom that he would cook their dinner that night since she would be working late. His stomach flipped and twisted painfully as he worked up the courage to decline the best thing to come his way since sliced fucking bread. "Shit, man I'd love to, but I just..." he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I have something I have to do and I can't. B-But I'm free tomorrow if you're cool with that?" he looked up at Marco, fearing the worst...  
"Of course!" Marco replied instantly, handing his phone over to Jean and explaining, "unless you're psychic, it's probably a good idea to exchange phone numbers."

"What, you think psychics don't use cell phones, Bodt? This is the 21st century, get with the times," Jean quipped as he entered his number in Marco's phone, offering his own up for the same purpose. Marco's phone was sleek and clean with a brushed metal case, and his background image was a picture of a bright blue lightning bolt striking a lone tree in a vast, empty pasture. Jean admired the picture momentarily before switching the phones back. 

They chatted and walked together a bit before parting ways. Jean had 2 miles to go before he'd be home, but didn't seem to care either way about his flooded shoes that were clearly not made to be worn in the rain. Who cares about sleeping in when Marco Bodt is involved? 

\-----------------

Despite his excitement, Jean was tired when he walked in the door, and immediately changed into some sweatpants and a loose tank top after rinsing the cold away with a brief, steamy shower. An hour of homework and studying were all he could handle, his concentration shot for the day. He spent the next 45 minutes cooking on auto-pilot, his mind buzzing about whether he should text Marco that night or if that'd be weird, of what he would wear when he went over, or what Marco's room might look like. He chewed his food listlessly in the same manner and, after putting some aside in tupperware for his mother, headed upstairs with his phone in hand.

Jean collapsed into bed, his exhaustion from the weather and from his mental exertion finally catching up to him. He stared at his phone for a moment, checked the time (9:15 pm) and decided it was a perfectly reasonable time for him to text Marco asking when he'd like him to come over the next day. His eyelids drooped as he stared at the screen, waiting to see if Marco would reply, but he couldn't stay awake any longer, and eventually succumbed to the sleep that he'd been craving since that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I know this has taken way longer than anyone had expected (myself included) but I've gone back to writing this again. What was supposed to have been a oneshot has become way too involved for one chapter alone (I have no self control when it comes to writing, I'm sorry....). 
> 
> A lot of personal things happened; my boyfriend's mom was in the hospital for months, we moved into her house to take care of her pets and to keep the place in shape, I visited my family back in California, my sister revealed that she and her husband are pregnant with their first child - a little baby boy due in November (I'm going to be an auntie!!!). 
> 
> I will try my best to finish this up as quickly as it comes to me. This chapter was written in the last 24 hours and may be a bit messy with grammatical and spelling errors, and probably some lazy writing at times haha...but I hope you all enjoy it. Please feel free to point out any mistakes I've made or anything that doesn't make sense! Constructive criticism is a writer's best friend.
> 
> I've got the next few chapters pretty much worked out, it's just a matter of letting the story flow naturally. We'll see how it goes!
> 
> p.s. any difference between Jean and Marco's POV comes entirely from what they notice or how they perceive something to happen. I tried to avoid copying too much from Marco's POV because I don't want to be redundant, but some dialogue will be mirrored so you can capture each person's way of responding to things.
> 
> Until next time :)


	5. Getting to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco finds out more about the enigmatic Jean, maybe more than he anticipated or wanted to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there....I've been gone for while and keep getting email notifications about kudos on this project that I had put on the back burner. I've decided to dust it off and try to finish it. Please take note of the updated archive warnings - if you are easily triggered by violence or descriptions of violence/abuse, please be aware that this theme will be explored in later chapters.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The first thing Marco did when he woke up Saturday morning was check his phone, whereupon his eagerness was rewarded at seeing a new message notification from around 11:45 pm of the previous night:

from Jean Kirschtein: _hey wht time should i come ovre tmrw_

Judging by the time he had sent that message, Marco ventured a guess that Jean was not the early riser that Marco tended to be, even on weekends - 8 am was probably too early to respond. However, he did manage to kill an hour and half by going for a jog, showering, getting changed and grabbing a quick breakfast with his folks before they headed to various appointments. Finally, he succumbed to temptation and replied to the message, after many rough drafts and revisions, of course: 

to Jean Kirschtein: _Hi! Come over whenever you want, I'm pumped and ready to study hardcore. My address is 5654 Thistle Way - the house with all the random lawn ornaments (don't ask...)_

He smiled down at his phone screen as he hit send, smothering a brief inner fear that it was too much information so early in the morning to the point of being annoying, even after his meticulous editing. He decided it was casual enough that Jean wouldn't feel rushed, but also communicated his excitement at getting to study together (and also maybe just hang out afterwards? hopefully?) and was actually impressed at his ability to resist tagging on an emote of some sort at the end.

He began work on an English assignment to keep himself from staring down his phone's black screen, willing it to light up with another notification. Thankfully, the distraction wasn't needed for long. Not ten minutes later, he received a simple reply:

from Jean Kirschtein: _cool be thre in 30 on my bike i fuckn love lawn ornments. gnomes???_

Marco stifled a snicker as he clicked out his answer that yes, there were multiple gnomes courtesy of his mother's ecclectic and impulsive taste and that they all had formal names due to his father's dorky sense of humor. At that, he headed to the kitchen to whip up some brain fuel. By the time he heard a gentle knock at his door, he'd cut up a shit ton of fruit, probably more than was really necessary but it's not as though it'll go bad. Knowing his family, if he left anything edible and pre-sliced within view it was likely to get gobbled up within a day.  
He padded across the hardwood floors to the door, pulling it open and trying to not grin like an absolute fool at seeing Jean. This is like, what, day three of knowing each other? And yet, welcoming Jean into the house as he shed shoes in the entry way felt so natural, like something he'd been doing every weekend for the past ten years.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Marco hummed, gesturing around towards the friendly living room and beyond. His house was that perfect mixture of tidy-enough to be a fucking magazine but the walls remained an organized chaos of family photos, bizarre knick-knacks, and vintage collectibles.

"Aren't you gonna introduce us?" Jean smirked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the crowded flower bed he had passed on the way in.

Marco rolled his eyes emphatically. "Don't worry, you'll get to know the whole family eventually. For now, let's focus on chemistry, or else that test is gonna kick our butts." Jean nodded lazily and followed Marco through the kitchen to gather their snacks then head up the stairs.

Marco led him into his spacious, high-ceiling bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and placing the bowls of fruit atop a short bookcase before unceremoniously flopping onto his bed. He hastily kicked some xbox controllers and clothes off the other end to make room for Jean, patting the comforter welcomingly beside him. 

They wasted no time in cracking out their notes and textbooks, poring over the material from the day before and munching. "Holy shit I don't even remember writing this down," Jean mused aloud more than once, glancing between his notes and the chapter review questions with a mouth full of watermelon. 

"Where were you at in your Chemistry class before?" Marco wondered aloud, popping a grape into his mouth and puckering his lips at the sourness. "At your old school, I mean," he clarified, glancing up at Jean's face focused on the material before him. 

"Uhh kinda around the same area. I'd hear something in the lecture I'd already learned and then five minutes later be 'reviewing' something from an earlier chapter that I'd never even heard of. I guess different teachers find certain things more important to focus on than others." Jean sighed, capping his highlighter with a snap and tossing it aside, then looked up to meet Marco's eyes. He paused for a moment, cheeks a light rosy shade against his pale skin, then averted his eyes as he spoke softly. "Hey, thanks Marco. I really appreciate you helping me out like this. I mean, we just barely met but you invite me to your house and feed me fucking fruit like a roman goddess-" Marco snorted at the rapid departure from serious sincerity, and Jean joined in with a bit of laughter. "I'm serious!" he insisted, unable to hold back the giddiness in his voice. 

Marco sighed, tossing himself back into a lounging position against his pillow. "It's no problem, studying with you like this will help me remember the material easier during the test. Besides..." Marco hesitated, sensing that he was about to make the conversation a bit awkward but unable to stop his words from tumbling out. Jean's broad smile eased into neutrality as he reached down into the bowl of grapes. "Ugh sorry this is going to sound weird, but you're kind of the coolest person I've ever met? I mean, to be honest I'm dying to get to know you better. You seem like a really good and genuine person." Marco's ears burned with the unintentional confession he'd just made, and he witnessed Jean's cheeks blossom into a similar hue, his smile gone and lips parted slightly around a grape, brows raised into his drooping blonde bangs.

Then Jean gulped nervously, which ended up in him swallowing the grape whole, coughing and attempting to clear his throat as a result. Marco held in his giggles with great effort and patted Jean's back comfortingly. "Wow, you really just say whatever's on your mind, huh?" Jean rasped out after choking down the grape. 

"Ah yeah, sorry if I made it weird," Marco felt his stomach tumble with shame.

"No, it's okay." Jean flopped his hand back and forth, clearing the air of Marco's worries. "You're cool too. It's been a long time since I've had anyone I could call a friend." Jean exhaled slowly through his nose after saying this, and laid back on the mattress to stare up distractedly at the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling. He traced the grain of the wood with his eyes, lost in thought, his hands clasped loosely across his chest.

"You didn't have any friends at your last school?" Marco asked cautiously, curious but not wanting to push the boundaries of their newly formed camaraderie. 

Jean didn't answer at first, and Marco worried his lip between his teeth nervously, wondering if he basically just asked if Jean was a loser with no friends. Jean glanced over at him momentarily, before returning his gaze to the ceiling. "I wasn't there very long, too shy to make new friends." His blush deepened slightly at this admittance. " We move around a lot so I'm used to it, I guess."

Marco's stomach squirmed anxiously beneath his skin as each answer Jean gave raised dozens of new questions within his racing mind. But he kept his curiosities in check for fear of coming across as nosy or rude. He wanted to know more, but had a nagging feeling about the direction this conversation was heading. Their chemistry notes laid scattered about on the bed, abandoned between them as they continued with the suddenly serious topic.

"Do you have anyone from your old schools that you keep in touch with, like on facebook or text message?" Marco asked quietly, as though Jean would spook if he spoke with more volume than absolutely necessary.

"Nope," Jean turned over on his side to look at Marco. "Don't have a facebook, and I've only had a phone for a few months. I think I've got about four phone numbers total in there, and one is my mom." He laughed and shook his head.

"Well, yeah, everyone's got their mom in their phone. But one of those four people is me, right? So you're already off to a great start!" Marco shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'am I right?'

"Marco Bodt, you're my hero," Jean whined out in a mock Cameron Frye voice, to which Marco responded by smushing his face repeatedly with spare pillow. They erupted into a bout of goofy laughter, exchanging escalating blows to the face with pillows until they both collapsed onto the bed, panting with exhaustion.

"Hahah oh my god when did I get so old that I can't even survive one measly pillow fight?" Marco lamented. "My sister would be ashamed of me. Good thing she's still at college and not home to witness this travesty."

"I think that was my first legit pillow fight," Jean said with a content smile, resuming his lounging position from before but with a better angle from which to see and talk with Marco. 

"That was only the first battle of many to come. I hope you're ready for all out war," Marco teased, kicking Jean's shin and tilting his chin when they made eye contact.

Jean laughed a bit at that, but Marco noticed something behind his smile that seemed a bit somber. Jean's eyes wandered back to the ceiling.

"Are you an only child?" Marco asked innocently.

"Yeah." Jean replied stoically, not elaborating on the subject any further. Marco decided to steer clear of family questions after that. 

Silence fell over the room as the two retreated into their own thoughts and memories. Marco almost jumped out of his skin a few minutes later when Jean asked out of the blue, "So how long have you been playing football?" They chatted about Marco's athletic achievements, brushing ever so lightly on Jean's experience in Track and Field and Baseball, and the conversation flowed easily into chatter about their hobbies, favorite tv shows, movies, taste in music, and whatever else came up. They passed another half-hour in this manner, the light-hearted mood having finally returned to the environment when Marco asked offhandedly, "Yeah but seriously it's really unusual to get transfer students this late in the semester. Why'd you wait till April to switch schools?"

Jean's relaxed smile disappeared almost immediately, his body tensing as he sat upright on the bed and cleared his throat. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed, his back to Marco, and asked in a slightly strained voice, "Where's-where's your bathroom?" 

Marco sat up as well, alarms going off in his head at the proverbial land mine he'd just traipsed right onto. "Second door to the right right, across from the stairs," Marco replied drily, his throat constricting with discomfort. Jean shuffled out of the room without another word, leaving Marco to inspect the ruined smithereens of what had been such an awesome morning. 

_Marco Bodt, that was the absolute stupidest thing you could have done. So careless, so rude...of course he can't have left for any good reason, I can't believe you can be such a bonehead sometimes. Get your head out of your ass and quit being a jerk,_ he chastised himself remorsefully. 

A few minutes later, Jean returned from the bathroom, his face a shade paler than before, but a weak smile back on his face. Marco exhaled slowly in relief at the lack of anger in Jean's visage. "Hey, maybe we should get back to work?" Marco offered, motioning towards their neglected chemistry materials. 

"Yeah, good idea. I'm still a bit fuzzy on that process I messed up in class the other day. Think we can go over it together a bit?" Jean finally looked directly at Marco for the first time since his faux pas from earlier, his golden eyes a bit glassier than Marco remembered them being. He filed that information away as a painful reminder that Jean's mysterious transfer was not something to be mentioned ever again. 

After another solid two hours of devoted studying, with occasional breaks for music and xbox games, Jean regretfully informed Marco that it was time for him to head home. Marco walked Jean to where his bike rested against the side of the house, patting his arm reassuringly.

"Thanks for coming over. We're gonna nail that test on Monday! " Marco beamed enthusiastically, his love for academia no secret.

Jean smiled, genuinely this time. "Are you kidding me? I should be thanking you!" They laughed dorkily at each other, both hesitating on actually saying goodbye. Jean couldn't find a reason to stall any longer. "I had a good time, we really need to hang out again sometime. See you Monday?" Jean smiled hopefully at Marco, flicking his kickstand up and swinging a leg over his bike.

"Yeah of course, see you then!"

Marco watched Jean pedal away on his bicycle, blushing at the fact that he kept looking at Jean's butt and liking what he saw. He headed back up to his room, shoving his chemistry notes off the bed and onto the growing mess around his bed.

_I'm so fucked..._ he thought to himself as he dove head first into the pillow Jean had been using, inhaling the residual scent of whatever he smelled like - shampoo? or detergent? a dash of pine-needles and deodorant and some kind of cooking spice. 

Marco laid like that, lost in thought until his parents returned and called him down for dinner later that evening. Monday couldn't come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I've got the next two chapters mostly written out. It's just a matter of creating a natural segue-way between this and the next chunk of story. This chapter hasn't been proofread for spelling or grammar, please let me know if anything is off about it. Also let me know if anything stands out as exceptionally well written or poorly written, or if anything seems out of place in the plot/out of character. It really helps me to know what you guys want out of this piece.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. One step forward, two steps backward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco grow closer, and Jean's past comes back to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated tags for more warnings. Please be aware! I keep getting emails about this fic it won't die lol. Anyways I wrote a bunch more for you guys and I know it's been a year but maybe I'll actually finish this. Probably only one more chapter left after this one. Also I changed the format a bit - it still reflects what both Jean and Marco are feeling and thinking, but does so in a way that doesn't require me to double write chapters from both perspectives. I think this is a more natural way of reading and writing anyway. I wrote this pretty quickly, and some of it was really hard to write. There is certain language that I couldn't even bring myself to write, so I toned it down a bit. Hope you guys enjoy the story so far.

After their study session together, it became habit for Jean to join Marco and his friends for lunch, and even to hang out with them after school or on the weekend a few times. He couldn't remember actually being comfortable with a group of people enough to have been invited to hang out with them, much less to have accepted the invitation with little to no trepidation. Marco's group of friends was massive, all of them close to him in different ways and for different reasons, but all of them able to mesh into his seemingly crowded gang. Marco is one of those "the more the merrier" type, who makes friends wherever he goes, and what is good with Marco is good with pretty much anyone. Most of the time, it was a few people one day and different people another day, so it wasn't always the same huge group of people with predictable dynamics. But the two constants were always Marco and Jean, and the fun times Jean had with him were made all the more significant by the stark contrast provided by his till-now barren social life. Five years of acquaintances will make any friendship seem special. But Jean knew that he wasn't seeing their friendship merely from this perspective. There truly was something, many things, remarkable about his dear friend and the closeness they had come to share. The quiet smiles they often exchanged made him feel as though maybe Marco felt it too.

Marco introduced Jean to his football mates, Eren and Connie, and through them, Jean came to know Sasha and Mikasa. He got along pretty well with Sasha and Connie, they were goofballs, but real sweet people who just wanted everyone to get along and have fun. Eren was...well, Eren was not someone Jean would normally be friends with, but he tried to get along, for Marco's sake. And Mikasa? Well, you know those people you meet, that are just naturally skilled, but also really hard working, so they end up excelling at basically anything their golden hands touch? Yeah, that's pretty much Mikasa. MVP athlete, valedictorian, student body president, organizes blood donation events and food drives, hell she probably fosters puppies and reads to senior citizens too. _The complete opposite of someone like me,_ thought Jean. He tried not to dwell on how the world can manage to distribute fortune and misery in such an imbalanced way, understanding that this kind of thinking was never helpful.

Their bond only intensified over the next few weeks, as Marco and Jean spent nearly every minute of free time with each other, not wanting to confront the reality that school was nearly over and life after high school would have to be addressed. Jean had actually been doing extremely well in school, due largely in part to his "guardian fucking angel" Marco and his chemistry tutoring. But it was more than just the study sessions. He felt more aware, more connected than before. As though he were actually living a life, his life, instead of going through the actions, avoiding his past, and dreading the uncertain future. He felt an energy within himself that wasn't there before - hope.

His teachers made sure to let his mother know that he was on track to graduate in a few weeks, and the look of pride on her face was more than enough encouragement for Jean. He knew he could never repay her for everything she's given to him till now despite all the trouble of being a single mother, so he tried to contain the embarrassment he felt when she would fawn over him, ask him about his day and his friends, particularly Marco.

"You should have him over!" she suggested cheerfully one Tuesday evening while preparing dinner as Jean pored over his history notes at the kitchen table in preparation for finals.

"No, no, no..." Jean quickly mumbled, waving a hand in her direction without looking up.

"I'm serious, Jeanbo!" Her mother crooned, patting his shoulder affectionately as she fetched something from the pantry.  
Jean sighed dramatically, resignedly shutting his textbook and exhausted from having reread the same paragraph four times and not even knowing what it had said. "Fine, I'll ask him. I'm sure he's too busy with sports stuffs, and finals, and he really does have a lot of friends. But...we are working on our final chemistry project together, so I'll ask him if he wants to come over this week."

"Oh, Jeanbo, I'm so excited!" his mother clapped her hands with glee. "What kind of food does he like? You have to ask! I'll make anything, I'll buy it special. Does he have any allergies?" She bombarded him with prodding questions for the next few minutes despite his protests of "I don't know" and "Okay I'll ask", and over dinner would occasionally blurt out some random question or another regarding accommodations for Marco. "Mom!" Jean huffed, placing his fork down in embarrassed exasperation. "I said I'll ask, we don't even know if he'll say yes. So please just calm down a little bit, okay? And don't call me Jeanbo when he comes over." But Jean had trouble keeping the excited smile off his lips, so he just let his mother continue her frenzied planning and tried not to over-analyze the Freudian meaning behind the fact that he'd said "when he comes over" instead of "if."

The next day at lunch, Jean thought about bringing it up to Marco, but couldn't bring himself to extend the offer with such an audience. He glanced around him, at the group of friends surrounding him, who he could safely call his own friends, as they munched and chatted animatedly with each other. He felt Marco nudge his arm gently and Jean met his eyes. Marco smiled at him and tilted his head a bit, sensing that Jean had something on his mind from his lack of appetite. Jean smiled back tensely, and made an effort to eat, albeit in a lackluster, mechanical way. How could he fill his stomach with food when it was knotted up like this? He had told his mother so casually that he would ask Marco, but now that the task was upon him, why did it make him so nervous? Other than the fact that he was majorly crushing on his best friend, of course. And the fact that while Marco was assuredly Jean's best friend, he still didn't know how the other boy felt about him. He felt like trying to put it into words would just make things awkward between them. He gulped his lunch down dryly, as Marco eyed him with slight concern.

After Chemistry class had just ended, and everyone was packing their bags, Jean still hadn't found the opportunity to ask Marco over. He kind of wanted to do it in private, but also felt weird asking Marco to speak to him privately. It was a catch-22. The nerves he'd been battling all day were at an all time high, and he could actually feel the blood pulsing at an alarming rate through his body. He turned towards Marco, who was gingerly placing his materials into his backpack as always, and had the urge to just blurt it out right then. But for the first time since they'd met, he felt himself balk when trying to talk to Marco.  
Marco seemed to sense his dilemma, and paused to look up at him, the gentle smile that usually graced his lips replaced by a worrisome frown.

"Jean, is everything okay?" he said quietly but clearly, the students around them not noticing their exchange as they bustled past them into the freedom of the afternoon.

"Um, yeah, w-why-what-why do you ask?" Jean stammered out, hand on his hip in what he hoped was passing for casual. He took the opportunity to subtly wipe his sweaty palm against his shirt.

"Well-" Marco started, then stopped himself and sighed. _Why do I ask?_ He thought sarcastically. _Gee, I dunno, you've been distracted all day and you look like you're about to jump out of your skin, you're so on edge. The only time I've seen you act this way is when you were new here and nervous around everyone, but still...you never acted that way around me. Did I do something to upset you?_ Marco frowned as he cogitated. The classroom was empty now, the students having returned to their lockers or headed home, and the teacher had gone to the back of the lab to prepare materials for the next day. Jean sat there fidgeting, waiting for him to answer. They both were unsure of what to say, but it was clear that Jean was not going to be the one to speak first. Marco didn't want to say all of what he was thinking, it was a bit rude and invasive and presumptuous. But the truth was, Marco was worried, so he ran with that feeling.

"Jean, you know if there's anything that's...bothering you, you can tell me right? I won't make fun of you. I just-" Marco exhaled through his nose before continuing. "I just want you to be happy." Marco blushed madly - in attempting to avoid saying something rude, he'd said something incredibly corny instead, and now bashfully rubbed the back of his neck as he looked down at his feet, waiting for a response. However, the response was not what he had been expecting.

"Doyouwannacomeoverfordinner?" Jean barked out, his hands gripping the hem of his shirt in anticipation.

"Wha-," Marco began, his eyes wide and his face the picture of surprise.

"Do you- do you want to come over...to my house....for dinner. And to to work on our project." Jean repeated carefully, his eyes darting around nervously but refusing to look away from Marco's face.

"What- do I- yes. Yes, Jean, of course. Is that why you've been weird all day?" Marco replied, Jeans's sudden relief a complete mystery to him.

"Oh my god, yes." Jean's whole body relaxed as his knees sagged and he threw his head back, and he began explaining to Marco with a you-won't-believe-the-day-I've-had kind of tone. "Okay, my mom told me to invite you over, and I was like, "fine" but then actually thinking about inviting you was totally weird, like how do I bring it up, and if I invite you in front of other people, are they going to feel left out? But then if I ask to talk to you in private, will they think I'm weird and start rumors, and I just got overwhelmed thinking about it. But yeah, my mom wants to meet you, dude, she's like your biggest fan or something." Jean chuckled, and Marco had crossed his arms, the easy smile returning to his face.

"So your mom made you do it?" Marco questioned teasingly, making Jean squirm guiltily.

"Well, yeah, but I mean...I want you to come over too." Jean admitted, his face lighting up red in a shade that rivaled Marco's blush from earlier.

 _Too cute_ , Marco thought. "Sure, I'd love to come over. Will tomorrow after practice be okay?" Marco was actually free after practice that evening, but didn't want to overstep etiquette and come over unannounced.

"Hell yeah, shit my mom is going to freak out." Jean mumbled as Marco laughed, and Jean reiterated. "No, dude, you don't understand. She literally won't shut up about you. Don't be surprised if you walk in and find adoption papers on the table. You've been warned." They laughed and joked a while together until Marco had to get to practice, and Jean left for home with good news for his mother.

The next day after school, Marco got Jean's address and, after insisting that he'd be able to get there on his own, agreed to meet there after practice let out. Their chemistry project was due the next day, and while they'd already had all the research and materials finished since Monday, they wanted a chance to practice the presentation a few times. It was about 6 o'clock, Jean's mother was just finishing up dinner and Jean was setting the table when they heard a soft knock at the door.

"Ohhhh my goodness that must be him!" he heard his mother practically squeal before slipping into French and worrying over the tidiness of the kitchen.

"Marco doesn't speak French, Mom." Jean chided her halfheartedly, but she wasn't even listening. "I'll get the door," he murmured as he rushed out of the kitchen to the front door, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt before opening the door with barely contained jitters.

"Hi," Marco exhaled as he readjusted the backpack over one shoulder, a flower bouquet in the other hand.

"Uhh, hi," Jean replied not so eloquently, clearing his throat and stepping aside. "Come on in," he waved Marco in and closed the door behind him as Marco removed his shoes and stepped into the quaint living room.

"I know our place is nothing compared to your house-" Jean started to ramble, but was saved by his mother's interruption.

"Oh mon dieu - the boy has brought flowers! Flowers, Jean!" His mother called from the doorway as she entered the room.

"Hi Mrs. Kirschtein, it's nice to meet you. These are for you, from my mother. Thank you for having me over," Marco elaborated smoothly, as he handed the flowers to Jean's mother and shook her hand politely.

"Oh please, just Nena is fine," she replied, blushing coyly as she took the bouquet and brought it to her face. "They are simply wonderful, Marco. Please tell your mother I said thank you! I'm going to put these in water, dinner will be ready in a few minutes so you boys can just relax till then." She returned to the kitchen humming happily.

"Now you've done it, she's not going to shut up about you for weeks." Jean said jokingly, smiling so Marco knew he wasn't upset. Marco covered his mouth and tried not to bust up laughing. "I'm going to have invest in earplugs. This is my life now, thanks," he would have kept going if he wasn't snickering so hard. They settled down into comfortable silence.

"No but really, thanks for having me." Marco repeated, to Jean this time. They met eyes, and exchanged soft smiles.

"Boys! Dinner is ready" They heard Nena call from the other room.

Dinner went surprisingly well. Jean's mother only told three embarrassing baby stories, and Marco made great conversation for both of them. The lasagna she had made was something Jean had always enjoyed, and secretly Jean suspects she made it because of that reason. When dinner was over, with compliments about how delicious it was coming from both boys, Marco offered to help clean up the dishes and was subsequently shooed from the kitchen with protests of "you're our guest!" and "you brought flowers!" The two boys adjourned to Jean's room so they could finish their school work.

His room was sparsely decorated and tidy, but somehow cozy and inviting to Marco. A bookcase with a few novels and some classic car magazines, a desk with pens and paper and eraser shavings all over it, his nightstand had an alarm clock, a lamp, and a classic gameboy. It was all very...Jean.

"Just throw your bag anywhere," Jean instructed as flicked the lights on and opened the window. "It gets a bit stuffy in here," he explained, and Marco placed his backpack by the bed as he took a seat in the desk chair. They got to work right away, perfecting their timing and wording of the presentation as they practiced it over and over, eventually resigning themselves to having achieved the best they could. They were relaxing together on his bed chatting when Nena knocked gently, having brought them both a glass of milk and brownies.

"Thank you, Nena. Jean is lucky to have a mother like you," Marco said gratefully as he accepted the dessert tray. She just giggled on her way out, letting them know that it was nearly 8:30 and that she'd be happy to give him a ride home when they were done, seeing as how it was a Thursday night.

"You just had to get one more compliment in there, didn't you," Jean nudged Marco's hip with his toes as he stuffed his face with the scrumptious chocolate delight.

"Wha?? Isss true!" Marco replied with a mouth full of brownie, avoiding Jean's jabbing toe and retaliating with his heel.

This continued to escalate after the brownies were finished off and devolved into a full-blown pillow fight, a rematch from their prior bout. "Okay! Okay! You win," Marco eventually conceded as Jean knelt beside him, arms pulled back overhead with pillow in hand, and the two of them winded from having exerted a surprising amount of effort for something so silly. But sometimes it's okay to commit to being silly. _Especially with Marco,_ Jean thought, _who would gladly join me in it than judge me for it._ "Oh my god, you are the nemesis I've been training for all my life," Marco mumbled and then stifled a dorky laugh.

"Yeah, well I haven't trained at all. I'm a natural," Jean panted, dropping the pillow and flopping down on the mattress beside Marco. They relaxed together as they caught their breath, which gave them each time to get lost in their thoughts a bit. Marco broke the silence with an invitation equally as unexpected as Jean's had been to Marco.

"Hey, do you wanna come to the game tomorrow night?" Marco asked, his hands resting on his stomach as he looked up at the ceiling, then at Jean directly as he explained. "It's almost the end of the season, I mean there's only two games left, and I realized you hadn't been to any of them yet. And I was just thinking, I'd really like for you to be there." He trailed off while admitting the last part, sitting up a bit as he started to blush.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that." Jean replied, smiling and blushing as well. "But...isn't it too late to buy tickets?" Jean asked, worrying his lip between his teeth.

"No, it's ok. I always have a few reserved for family members and none of them are coming tomorrow, so you can take one. You just pick it up at will-call, it'll be under my name. The game starts at 5."

"I can't wait." Jean said sincerely.

"Neither can I! Man I wish you got here at the start of the year, you would have made a great captain," Marco hummed, clasping his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

"Captain!? ME?!" Jean guffawed in disbelief. "Do you remember what introducing me to people was like? You're delusional, I don't think I could be a captain." Jean shook his head and sat up.

"Hmm...I think you don't give yourself enough credit. Once you open up to people, they really learn to trust and respect you. You may exaggerate, but you don't lie, and you think carefully about what to say...almost too carefully sometimes haha," Marco laughed gently at whatever he was remembering. Jean couldn't help but stare in wonder and Marco went on and on about his great qualities. "So yeah, I feel like if you'd been here at the beginning of the year, you'd be captain." Marco repeated himself, opening his eyes and looking sideways at Jean's blushing face.

"But you're captain!" he blurted out.

"Haha! Yeah but, only because nobody else wanted to do it, and I had the free time. I'm not really suited to it, though. I'm too selfish." Marco turned onto his stomach and rested his chin on crossed arms.

"Selfish is the last word I'd use to describe you." Jean mumbled, bringing his knees to his chest with a shiver.

Marco laughed sheepishly. "Jean, sometimes it feels like we've been best friends for years." He closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to not freak out about the fact that he'd just called them best friends. _Holy crap, I hope I'm not making any assumptions here._ he mused worriedly.

 _Holy shit, Marco just called me his best friend,_ Jean thought frantically, but schooled himself into responding calmly. "Yeah." he agreed, celebrating inwardly that Marco felt so close to him.

They both jumped when Nena knocked at the door again, and seeing that it was almost 9 o'clock, Marco graciously accepted her kind offer of a ride home, and promised to deliver the packed up brownies she had convinced him to bring home to his family. Jean had trouble falling asleep due to the excitement he felt, for the conversation he and Marco had shared, and for what was to come tomorrow afternoon. He wasn't even worried about their Chemistry project, he was just looking forward to finally seeing Marco in action on the football field. And he was happy, so happy, that Marco had explicitly told Jean that he wanted him there. While it was thrilling that Marco saw them as best friends, he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that there would never be anything more between them. His feelings had not waned over the last few weeks, they'd only become more a part of himself than he thought possible. Even thinking about Marco made him happier than he could remember being in years, and for that matter, his mother too. Even though they didn't have much time left together in school, he was extremely grateful to have met him and befriended him at all. Jean finally fell asleep, thoughts of celebrating after the game with Marco on his mind.

Meanwhile, Marco was lying in bed having trouble sleeping himself. He had been relieved to find that he was justified in having a strong attachment and affection for Jean. When they met, it was just so natural. Like a chemical reaction, they just clicked. And now, after getting to know him better, the attachment was even stronger. While it all made sense logically to Marco, and he knew he should just be upfront and confess to Jean, but something else was playing a part in his decision making that he didn't want to rely on. He was scared. He was afraid that Jean would learn of his feelings and be disgusted, that he would stop hanging out with him and that their close bond would snap and he'd be alone again. Surrounded by people constantly, but so alone it hurt sometimes. It wasn't his logical mind that was telling him this would happen, because he knew Jean could never be so cruel and even thinking that he could be was a discredit to his dear friend. And yet, he was still afraid, and so he kept his feelings to himself, trying to convince himself that he was satisfied with being best friends. And it was all so selfish of him that he was ashamed.

\----

Their presentation that Friday went smoothly, and they even got a few laughs out of their usually uninterested classmates and Professor Arlert. After class, they congratulated each other on a job well done, and Marco pulled Jean into a brief, warm hug. When he pulled away, they were both smiling and blushing like idiots.

"Um, anyway, good job- again! And, I'll see you at the game?" Marco asked through a huge grin.

"Of course!" Jean pushed Marco's shoulder playfully. "I just have to run home and drop off some stuff, and I'll be back before the game starts to cheer you on." They stood before each other for a moment, not sure what to say, until Jean placed a hand on Marco's arm, squeezing gently, and spoke again. "Hey, good luck out there, Marco."

"Thanks," Marco replied softly, and as Jean let his arm fall limply at his side, Marco made his way to the locker room, the spirit of competition burning inside him. Jean rushed home to grab a sweater and drop off his backpack. He also wanted to put the finishing touches on the giant, colorful "DON'T YOU WISH YOUR QB WAS BODT LIKE ME" sign that he had started that morning after debating the appropriateness of insinuating that he thought his best friend was hot. Well, he was...anyone would agree.

He smiled to himself as he entered their apartment, and if he hadn't been so excited or in such a rush, he might have noticed the black ford mustang lingering idly across the street from their building. His mother had texted him that she wouldn't be home till midnight, so to make sure to lock up the house before going to sleep. After he was satisfied with the absurd amount of glitter he had added to his sign, and just as he was pulling a sweater over his head and about to grab his keys to head out, he heard a loud, quick knock at the door. He was so distracted by the game and by Marco that evening, that he didn't even stop to think of what that knock had meant in the past, of why he should have been wary and checked the peephole before opening it haphazardly. He might have even been able to slam the door shut if he had been quick enough - but he hadn't. He opened the door without a second thought to the disaster he had just unleashed on their lives.

There on their doorstep stood the 6 foot one mass of drunken muscle that was his father, breath heavy with whisky and movements unburdened by the restraint only offered to him by sobriety. Jean's eyes widened instantly, the smile he'd just been sporting wiped clear off his face. He moved to slam the door but was too late, his father's meaty hand smacking the door and withstanding Jean's efforts easily.

"Now that's no way to greet yer old man," he slurred, offended at Jean's instinctual flight reflex. Jean screamed internally at himself to run, the voice of his mother echoing in his mind from years ago. "Jean, run!" He was too slow in reacting to his mental plea. He had hardly turned to dash for the kitchen before his father had grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, wrenching his shoulder painfully and causing him to lurch forward, folding beneath the awkward angle of his limb.  
"Ahh!" Jean cried out, scrunching his eyes shut as his face made harsh contact with the tile flooring of the entry way, the pain of a fresh bruise blossoming beneath his skin.

"Get up! Piece of shit," his dad spat at him, pulling the twisted arm back to punctuate his command. Jean obeyed without protest, whining slightly from the persistent ache permeating his shoulder and cheek. Any other response would have just meant more pain. "Where's your mother?" he demanded, stumbling clumsily as he closed the door, but steady in his grip on Jean's arm. Jean didn't answer at first, and his father squeezed his arm menacingly. "Boy! I asked you a question!" he bellowed and his grip grew tighter with each moment that passed.

"Not home!" Jean gasped out as his bones barely withstood the crushing power of his father's grasp.

"No fucking shit, I didn't ask where she ain't," he retorted, grabbing Jean's hair with his free hand and yanking. "Now answer my damn question," he growled into Jean's ear as he sat helpless, head thrown back and neck bent too far to allow him to breathe properly, choking on insufficient gulps of air. Jean hesitated, trying to think of anything else to say to stall his father. When he couldn't come up with anything, he did that which his father hated most - he clammed up and ignored him. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, his throat burning as he fought against the urge to breakdown and cry, and kept his eyes shut. He was terrified, powerless, and alone. But at least his mother was safe.

"Fine, if that's how you want to do it, I tried to be nice, you good for nothing, worthless homo" his father stated flatly, voice dripping with malice and the pungent odor of alcohol. He released Jean's hair with a gruff shove as Jean gasped and gulped for air. His father retained his vice grip on his sore arm, and began fumbling around in Jean's pockets until he found what he was looking for - Jean's cell phone.

"I see she's still making enough money to buy you shit you don't even deserve," he laughed bitterly, failing to unlock the phone due to the passcode. "Open it," he demanded, thrusting the phone into Jean's field of vision and within reach of his free hand. Jean turned his head away, body already coursing with adrenaline as it prepared for the consequences. "OPEN! IT!" He repeated louder and slower, gradually pulling up on the arm, Jean's shoulder straining against the socket impossibly. He whimpered hoarsely, but didn't respond, able to control his voice but not the tears now flowing freely down his face. When his father saw that he wasn't going to get any answers out of Jean, he cursed brashly and threw him against the corner of the coffee table, splitting Jean's lip open. "It don't matter," he laughed dryly, "I'll come by again when she's back."

He chucked the phone against the tile and smashed it into oblivion beneath his boot, each crunch splintering a bit of Jean's hope along with it. As if that wasn't enough carnage for him, he took one last look at Jean, crumpled on the floor in all the wrong angles, and delivered a hard-heeled kick to his gut before leaving him curled up, gasping and sobbing, and he slammed the door behind him without another word.

Jean lost track of time - he's not sure how long it took to pick himself up off the floor. He let himself grieve, let himself be afraid and vulnerable for a while before he started putting his life back together again. It was well into the football game by the time he slowly, painfully collected the shattered remains of his phone and dumped them into the trash, his body pulsing with still fresh pain, stomach and lungs burning, heart throbbing pathetically in disappointment and fear. He didn't even realize how badly his face was battered until he went to use the restroom and caught his reflection in the mirror, noting the swollen cheek and busted lip and wanting to hide.

None of that really mattered to Jean right then. His mind was racing with questions of what to do. _No matter how much or how far we move,_ he lamented inwardly, _he always finds us._ He wouldn't stop simply because of a restraining order. Jean couldn't even call the police since his phone had been smashed, not that they had ever really helped in the past. Sure they try, but they can't just wait around their house all day until something happened. And by the time they could call them, it would already be too late.

Jean didn't see the signs as a kid. His dad had always pushed him around, sure, but he saw it as motivation to be better - better at school, better at sports, better with girls. Until Jean told him he didn't like girls. Until that point, he'd never seen the marks on his mother's arms as alarming or considered the yelling after bed time as unusual. He thought this was all normal parent stuff.

When Jean came out to this father, that was the end of his childhood. He was 11 and can remember telling his father how he liked a boy in his class named Thomas, and how Thomas liked him back. He told him him, excitedly and a bit embarrassed, that they had held hands at recess and shared lunches. He told him all of this over dinner, not noticing that his father's fork and knife had stopped moving over his plate.

When Jean looked up from his mashed potatoes, his mother had an expression of absolute terror written across her frail face, blond hair hanging loosely around her shaking jaw. Jean got this awful, sinking feeling in his gut. Her eyes flicked to her husband, then back to Jean, then back to her husband.

"Don't..." she whispered pleadingly to him. Jean didn't even know what she meant, but he was scared. "Will, please don't." she repeated, her timid French lilt undermining the strength in her request.

The man shoved his plate back and placed his head in his hands, and all Jean could do was watch, confused and enthralled and petrified in fear of what he didn't even know.

"Jean-!" His mother whispered to him frantically. "Jean, run!" she hissed, swatting her hand in the air at Jean and placing a hand on her husband's arm, trying to placate him with more pleading whispers.

But Jean didn't understand quickly enough, as always. His father lunged at him without warning, grabbing his collar over the dinner table and shouting about how no son of his was going to disrespect him like this, no son of his was going to grow up to be a homo. He slapped Jean so hard his eyes went white with whiplash. Jean fell out of his chair, disoriented and hurt, holding his hand up to his cheek as his vision swam. "Jean!" Nena shrieked, chairs screeching across linoleum around Jean as dishes fell to the floor and shattered.

The rest was a blur to Jean, but he remembers the cops showed up - probably called in by the neighbors. When they arrived, they hauled Jean's father off in cuffs and tended to his mother, who had tried to protect him from her husband's wrath. Jean was more in shock than in pain, his life having fallen to pieces in one night.

They moved out of the house that night and in with Nena's friend, and she filed for divorce and a restraining order against his father.

The next 5 years saw them move more times that Jean can even recount, to cities all across the nation, any where they could move to cheaply and discreetly. Because of this, he never really made friends anywhere, partly because he was so defeated after being separated from them the first few times, and also because he had very little trust left in him to give.

Nena and Jean supported each other - she worked long hours, often multiple jobs, trying to make ends meet, and Jean did chores and most of the cooking. His father would inevitably track them down, despite their best efforts to avoid social media and requests to be omitted from phone books and online listings. Sometimes Will would find her first...sometimes it was Jean. The longest he ever took to find them was five months, the quickest was a few days. It got to the point where they stopped wondering if he'd find them and started worrying when.

 _It's not as though he wants us dead,_ Jean thought to himself as he washed his face, wincing in pain. _He would have achieved that long ago if that was the case. He just wants us to suffer, he wants to control us, to get revenge on us for ruining his reputation and his perfect little life where everyone did whatever he told them to. He would consider death to be too kind for us. What he brings is much worse in my experience. Pain. Constant pain and fear and paranoia._

Jean considered what he should do about what had happened. _Should I tell my mother? She would have us gone and in another city in two days time with no chance to say goodbye to Marco or stay in touch._

But not telling her was selfish of Jean, and dangerous to both of them.

After tossing his glittery sign in the recycle bin, he shucked off his sweater and pants and crawled miserably into bed, not wanting to be conscious anymore. Then, Jean broke down. He cried and yelled, frustrated at the choice he had to make and knowing that either way, he was giving his father control over his life and his mother's life. Even if they keep on running, he's still controlling their lives and making them miserable.

Jean cried himself to sleep, not even waking up when his mom poked her head into his room to ask how the game was.

\---

Marco was lying awake in bed, not knowing what to think. He remembers Jean saying he'd be there for the game after stopping by his house, but he didn't see him anywhere in the crowd. He looked for him more carefully at half time, spotting some other friends and asking if they'd seen him. They all replied that they hadn't seen him since school had let out, which left Marco more confused than before. He asked his friend from the ticket booth to check the will-call list to see if anyone had picked up tickets under his name, but no one had. Marco didn't have time to think on it any longer, as the game was starting back up. He had trouble concentrating the second half of the game and was almost substituted because of it, but he pulled himself together for the team and they managed to pull off a close victory. But Marco didn't feel like celebrating with his team.

The first thing he did was check his phone to see if Jean had texted or called. Maybe something came up... But there were no missed calls and no text messages. He was hurt at first, wondering if he'd done something to upset Jean, or if he had found out how Marco felt about him and wanting nothing to do with him. But he knew that Jean would at least let him know he wasn't coming. He wasn't heartless, after all. No...now was sure he should be concerned. He send Jean a simple "are you ok?" text message, and sat staring at his phone hoping for a response. All around him, his teammates changed and showered and headed out of the locker room, whooping and clapping him on the back, and he smiled weakly back at them when they did. He slowly changed, glancing at his phone every few seconds and checking three times that the sound was on for his notifications. He sent another text, more urgent this time. "Hey please call me when you get this text message."

He finally finished changing and accepted a ride home from one of his teammate's mom. The whole way home, his mind was racing with things that might have happened. _What if he was hit by a car, or mugged, or kidnapped or something? Then again, what if he got home and just fell asleep?_ The minute he got home, he raced upstairs, threw his duffel bag and backpack at the foot of his bed, and hit the Call button underneath Jean's laughing face that Marco used as his picture in his phone contacts.

There wasn't even a single ring, it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off..or the battery was dead. _Something isn't right,_ Marco worried even more, a dread coiling within him. He tried to sound calm for the message he left. "Uh, hey Jean. I notice you didn't make it to the game and I'm just calling to check if everything is okay with you. I'm..." Marco held his breath, unsure of what he should allow himself to say. "I'm really worried, so please can you just text me or call me or something to let me know that you're alright. So um, I guess I'll see you on Monday then. Bye." He hung up and exhaled heavily, and showered before getting ready for bed.

It's 1 am and he's not heard back from Jean since he left the voicemail and text messages hours ago and now the dread has solidified in him and he won't be able to ignore it anymore. _I know it's weird, but I can't shake this feeling. I know I should wait until tomorrow, but what if that's too late?_

Realizing that he wouldn't be able to sleep until he was sure Jean was okay, Marco proceeded to shed his pajamas and change, and pulled out the piece of paper with Jean's address on it.


	7. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco was the catalyst that would change Jean's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this ended up being way more drama than any of you bargained for lol

Marco jogged to Jean's, struggling to keep himself from sprinting. He arrived within a half hour, remembering that Jean's window faced the oak tree on the side. He hesitated for only a second before knocking on his window softly, calling his name. When there was no response, he knocked a little louder, his heart is racing not just from the run but from his barely subdued panic.

Then, the window cracked open a bit, and Marco could see the vague outline of a person inside the room, but it was too dark to make them out.

"...Marco?" he almost didn't recognize Jean's cracking, weary voice.

"Jean!" he whispered loudly in relief. Now that Marco was sure that Jean was home, he deflated a little, unsure of what to say. He decided to repeat his sentiment from his text message earlier. "I tried to call you, are you okay?"

Jean didn't say anything at first, and Marco's chest constricted in worry. "Marco, you should go home. Your parents will worry about you. Besides, it's not-" Jean sniffed wetly and continued. "It's not safe for you to be out here." That caught Marco's attention.

"What do you mean?" Marco's heavy breathing was the only noise between them, and the wind blew briskly against his neck, making the hairs stand on end. Jean didn't answer his question, only shifting uncomfortably in the darkness. "Jean, what do you mean?" Marco repeated more insistently, and again, received no response. Even though Jean was right there talking to him, he should have been relieved, but everything about the situation felt so wrong. If he went home now, it would be worse than if he'd never come at all. "My parents are out of town until Sunday, that's why they didn't come to the game. So they won't even notice I'm gone tonight." Marco paused before speaking more earnestly. "I don't know if this is going to sound like I'm putting my nose where it doesn't belong, but I was really worried when you didn't show up, and I just want to make sure you are okay." Marco exhaled a huge breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. "I know it's late, and if you tell me to go home I will, but...Jean, can I please just come in for a little while so we can talk?" The silence was almost painful to Marco, to know that Jean was probably going to tell him to leave, that he was being impractical and nosy.

Finally, Jean spoke. "Ok." he replied simply.

"Ok?" Marco parroted, unsure of what Jean was saying.

"Go to the door, I'll let you in," Jean whispered, and shut his window without another word.

Marco stood dumbstruck for a moment, then rushed over to the front of the apartment and waited. He heard Jean undo the locks from the other side and slowly the door opened, and he entered the pitch black apartment, removing his shoes blindly and listening as Jean relocked the door. His eyes were still adjusting when he felt a tug at the front of his jacket. Jean pulled Marco towards himself in the dark and wrapped his arms around Marco and laid his hands on his back, resting his forehead on his chest.

"Jean?" Marco hoped that Jean couldn't feel how fast his heart was beating beneath his shirt.

"M'sorry..." he heard Jean mumble from below. Marco's stomach ached with worry as he gently wrapped his arms around Jean and found that he was trembling slightly.

"Jean, it's ok. Whatever it is, it's fine. I'm not mad, I'm just worried about you." Jean let out a shaky breath and pulled away from Marco with a sniffle, who still couldn't see well through the darkness, but thought he saw Jean wipe his face with his sleeve. "Is it ok if we turn on a light?" Marco asked, and without a word, Jean grabbed his hand and led him back to his bedroom, closing the door behind them and releasing Marco's hand. Normally they'd both have butterflies from holding hands, but nothing felt romantic about this situation at all. Jean clicked on the lamp on the nightstand, and stood facing the window for a little bit, wrapping his arms around his chest and drooping his head. Marco could see even from across the room that he was still shaking a bit, despite the sweatpants and long sleeve shirt he was wearing, and didn't realize he was actually crying until he heard a quiet sob.

"Jean!" Marco whispered urgently, crossing the room but stopping himself uncertainly right behind Jean, not wanting to say or do something insensitive. "Jean, I don't know what's going on, but I'm here for you. So please, just tell me how to make it okay." Marco said weakly, tears of his own threatening to form. He sat on the edge of the bed beside them and exhaled.

"There is no okay, Marco. There never was..." Jean replied, his voice wet and nasally. He didn't want to turn around, he didn't want to show Marco his weakness, his past. He was embarrassed by it all, and wanted to hide. He was sick of being pitied, or looked down on. The whispers of the neighbors as the cops question his mother, the cops saying there was an arrest warrant out and that they'd do their best. It was all fake concern, their way of looking into his life and being thankful theirs wasn't so fucked up.

But Marco had come all this way for him, and he knew that it wasn't out of curiosity, but genuine concern. He wasn't asking Jean to tell him what happened, he wasn't looking for a reason to be superior. He was asking Jean what he could do to make it better, something so simple but so novel. No one ever asked him that before. It was always empty promises and 'you poor child' and it made Jean sick with fury and shame.

Jean could show his weakness to Marco, and some part of him wanted to.

"Jean, I don't know how to make you feel better. I'm sorry..." Marco's eyes began to water, so when Jean turned around and looked down at him, he wasn't sure if he was seeing him clearly. He wiped the moisture out his eyes and looked again, saw Jean's face swollen from bruises and crying, and saw the pained expression on his tearful face. Marco slowly stood up, face slack with disbelief, and he knew that raising a hand to Jean's face would be going too far. He gulped and looked down with wide eyes at Jean's hands, gripping the hem of his shirt and shaking, and reached out to take hold of one. Jean let Marco grasp his hand, trying not to squeeze Marco's hand too tightly, and tried not to think about the fact that he'd probably have to leave in a few days, and would never get to see Marco again.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts and the fact that Marco was stroking his thumb across the back of Jean's hand that he didn't even realize Marco had started to cry until he looked back up at his face. Marco had tears flowing down his cheeks, his lip trembling and eyes looking down at their hands.

"Marco..." Jean breathed, and Marco looked up at Jean's face and gave him a watery smile before breaking down completely, his gross sobs echoing in the barren bedroom. Jean guided him to the bed and sat down next to him, unsure of how to react.

"I'm-I'm sorry-I'm so s-sorry, Jean plea-please," Marco got out between wheezes and hiccups as he started to hyperventilate. Jean shushed him, his own tears stopped in their tracks from surprise. No one but his own mother had ever cried for him like this, and he had felt just as awful then as he did now.

"Marco, please don't cry. Shhhh you're going to wake up my mom." Jean ran his hand up and down Marco's back soothingly as Marco cradled his face in his hands and wept.

After a while, Marco had stopping crying, and they were both sitting on the bed sniffling and avoiding eye contact. "Does she know...about.." Marco asked, gesturing to Jean's face.

"...No," Jean replied, and exhaled heavily. "I was asleep when she got home, but when she sees it, she's going to make us leave." Jean couldn't bring himself to look at Marco.

"Leave? Leave where, leave here? Leave town?" Marco replied, hoping that wasn't the case. "Leave...me?" he added desperately.

Jean looked up into Marco's pink-rimmed eyes, his eyebrows turned up in worry and his lips pressed together tightly. Even in distress, Marco was beautiful. Jean sighed and looked away.

"Yes." Jean answered, his mouth dry. Marco didn't respond, but shifted uncomfortably beside him. He wished he had never been curious about Jean's past, about why he had transferred so suddenly. Now that he was learning more, he realized it was worse than he could have ever guessed, and he was filled with guilt. He didn't say anything, and was expecting the room to go silent when Jean spoke. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the game." he choked out, clearing his throat.

"It wasn't your fault, you don't have to apologize," Marco responded politely, adding his own apology. "I'm sorry you had to go through that by yourself."

Jean laughed dryly and retorted, "What, you wish you had been there?" but did not get the satisfaction he was hoping for out of saying that. Marco frowned, and responded with more emotion than Jean had expected.

"No, but if I HAD been there, I could have at least tried to protect you!" He replied angrily at first, then wistfully added, " I don't want you to suffer, Jean." He stopped himself before he could say more. He wanted to tell Jean how much he cared, and he resolved to do so when the time was right, but doing so now would just be taking advantage of his vulnerability.

Jean was speechless. So he acted instead, wrapping his arms around Marco, his chin resting on his shoulder. Marco wasted no time in returning the gesture, and the two boys sat embracing each other until Jean pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he began, cutting off Marco as he started to speak with a wave of his hand. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm used to people...pitying us, and our situation, and it gets really old. But I should have known better than to think you were like everyone else." Jean took a breath to steady himself, and then he tried to sum up the situation as best as he could. "My dad did this. He's done worse, to me and my mother, and this isn't the last time it's going to happen. He'll come back, and keep coming back, so we have to run." Jean explained, pushing down the embarrassment threatening to overtake him. "I realized at some point that he's always been abusing my mother, but he only started hitting me when...he found out I was gay." Jean said, not daring to look at Marco. He didn't feel one way or another about being gay, and never thought it was shameful in the least, but was worried about the repercussions of telling his closest friend and how that would affect their friendship.

_Jean is gay??_ Marco secretly rejoiced, coming to the realization that maybe they could be something more than friends. At the very least, he could tell Jean and not be afraid that he would shun him, even if he didn't return his feelings. But then he remembered that Jean said they were going to leave. Marco felt a bit guilty at his moment of joy given the circumstance, but nodded to Jean to continue.

_I guess he's okay with me being gay,_ Jean thought in relief, and continued to explain. "Before this, we lived in Topeka. We had been there for three months and he showed up at my mother's work, and followed her home." He didn't want to describe what Will had done to her, didn't want to open her wounds for Marco to see. That wasn't his right. "So we left, and came here. This was the only school nearby that would take a transfer this late in the school year, and we really couldn't afford to move far. So here we are, we've been here for a few weeks now, and I was in a hurry to get to the game yesterday," Jean swallowed thickly, wondering how he could even have any more tears to cry as they burned mildly behind his eyes.

Marco felt that dread again at the pit of his stomach, it was striking the inside of him like a gong, sending aching waves of guilt throughout his body. Jean had been hurrying to get to the game...

"I guess I was just distracted, and he-he pushed his way in, and grabbed my arm-" Jean rolled his sleeve up and Marco saw the finger shaped bruises wrapped around Jean's arm near his wrist, and felt rage replacing the guilt within him. "Then he smashed my phone, and he said he'd be back for mom." Suddenly Jean's eyes went wide. "Mom! She doesn't know, I have to tell her." Jean stood up, and was about to walk out when he remembered - if he told his mother, they'd have to leave. He turned around to look Marco in the face.

"You should tell her, Jean." Marco agreed, but the look he gave Jean was not convincing.

"No..." Jean whispered. "No," he repeated louder. "I'm sick of letting him control us, I'm sick of being miserable and I don't want to leave. If I tell her, she won't listen to me. She'll uproot us and I'll never see you again."

"But she's in danger if you don't tell her," Marco pointed out.

"I know!" Jean was frustrated, trying to come up with some way out of this. "But maybe we can trick him, I mean, there are arrest warrants out for him. If the cops catch him, he'll probably go to jail for a long time. I mean eventually he'll get out, but that would be years from now, and by then maybe there will be a way to get away from him for good."  
Marco didn't feel good about this plan, but the alternative was to never see each other again, and for Nena and Jean to continue their desperate fleeing. "What, you mean like bait him?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure he'll be back another time." The truth was Jean did have an idea, but it was one he knew Marco would hate. "Marco, I have an idea." Jean said, and Marco looked up at him expectantly. "My father will be back, soon. He never waits more than a day to come back, he's too worried we'll have skipped town." Marco nodded, listening intently but worried at what he was about to suggest. "Mom doesn't have work tomorrow, she's going to be home when he comes for her. I can distract him at the door, but neither of them will know you're here. I need you to phone the police and wait until they get here." Marco was shaking his head, looking down at his feet.

"I don't like this." Marco stated.

"I know, I don't like it either." Jean sighed, "but you'll be safe, just stay in my room, in my closet if you have to, and when you hear that it's my father, you call the police. And they will catch him in the act, and book him for violating a restraining order and assault and child abuse, since I'm a minor, and he'll be in jail for a long time. Then, we won't have to leave." Jean smiled at Marco and shrugged.

"But who knows what he'll do to you until they get here? What he'll do to your mother?" Marco stood up and walked over to him. "I don't know that I can just sit back and not do anything while you two are in pain. There's got to be some way I can help," Marco took Jean's hand again and squeezed it.

"You would be helping, the whole plan relies on you helping, you have the most important job." Jean laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but it was an empty laugh, and he soon gave up the farce. "Please, it's the only way we can stop running. It's the only way-" Jean choked on his words for a moment, and finished, "it's the only way I can stay here with you." Marco stared at Jean's face for a while, usually so angular and graceful, now round and puffy with the aftermath of his father's abuse.

"Okay." Marco agreed, anxiety gnawing at his insides.

Jean mumbled a thank you before yawning, wincing as his lip started to bleed a little bit. Marco licked his thumb and gently rubbed the blood from his mouth, and Jean could feel the heat rising to his face. Marco, realizing what he just did was extremely intimate, removed his hand and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, I guess I'll go sleep on the couch then," he made to leave but jean grabbed his jacket.

"Stay here, please..." Jean said, blushing but not breaking eye contact.

"Okay," Marco complied, removing his jacket, placing it on the desk chair, and climbing into Jean's bed as Jean switched the light off and Marco felt him wriggle under the covers beside him. The two of them laid there, Marco facing away from Jean, and Jean lying on his back, both unable to fall asleep but neither knowing what to say. For the second time that night, Jean broke the silence.

"Thank you, Marco. I'm lucky to have a best friend like you."

Marco was again struck by the intense desire to tell Jean his true feelings, but knew that it could wait until after everything was resolved. After a while, he whispered, "you're welcome," and eventually, they both drifted off to sleep.

\---

A loud, sudden knock woke Jean from his light sleep. Jean had his face against Marco's back, arm tossed over Marco's side, and he could feel his warmth through his shirt. He felt Marco jolt as the knock came again, louder and quicker this time. Jean sat up and threw the covers off, and Marco looked at him, dazed with sleep but understanding completely. He nodded at Jean, who returned his nod before leaving the room, shutting the door gently behind him. He heard Nena's feet pad down the hallway towards them, and heard her and Jean whisper to each other, but couldn't understand what was being said. The knock came a third time and he heard Nena startle, and heard her plead "No...no Jean, please!." Marco clutched his chest and waited, then heard the door open gently as Jean entered the room, pulling his mother along behind him.

"Marco!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth quickly.

"Hi, Nena. Sorry for coming over unannounced." He felt awkward about it, sitting on Jean's bed before the two of them, until Nena pulled him into a hug.

"Oh mon cherie, you should not be here." She whispered through her tears. The knock came again, sounding more like the person was trying to break the door down, startling the three of them.

"I'm going to call the police," Marco spoke to her reassuringly.

"What should we do?" Asked Nena, distraught with fear.

"You two wait in here. Lock the door, barricade it with the chair," he said, pointing to the wooden chair over which Marco's jacket was still draped. "You can climb out the window if need be," Jean instructed. Marco nodded, dialling 911 and entering the closet to avoid being heard, but Nena just looked at him, shaking her head.

"Jeanbo...please don't open the door." She pleaded with him. They heard a smashing sound from the other room, likely his father breaking a window to get in. His mother sobbed.

"I told you not to call me that when Marco was over," Jean replied with a smirk, before closing the door behind him and walking into the front room, his face now blank.

It was still early, he could tell by the way the light filtered in through the now broken window, as his father stepped through the hole he'd made in the window, glass crunching beneath his boots, reminding Jean of how he'd destroyed his phone.

"Long time no see, boy," his father said thickly, dropping the empty beer bottle from his hand and wiping his mouth.

"What do you want?" Jean tried to keep his voice from shaking, already preparing himself mentally to withstand the torture that was surely coming.

"You already know what I want..."he said, breathing heavily as he took a step towards Jean.

"Mom's not home," he lied.

"Bullshit," his father spat, taking another step towards him. One more and he'd be within reach. Jean wanted to run, but he knew that he had to stall his father enough for the police to get there. He knew he had to keep him from Nena, and from Marco.

But his father didn't reach for him, instead he turned towards the hallway and started walking. Jean ran to intercept him, blocking the hallway.

"You know how this goes, son, you wanna rethink yer actions?" his father said with a menacing laugh.

Jean didn't say a word, just stood in the doorway, his chest tight with the implications of what his father said.

His father stopped smiling. "Suit yourself, brat." He reached out and took hold of the back of Jean's neck, and began dragging him towards the front door. Jean resisted, clawing at his father's arm and shouting obscenities at him. His father dragged him through the glass, and it cut into Jean's feet, causing him to cry out in pain and his legs to give out. His father laughed drunkenly, shaking Jean by the neck, rattling his brain around in his head and disorienting him. Then he dropped Jean onto the glass, and it cut into his hands and arms where he braced himself for the fall. Jean was wet with tears and blood, dizzy from being shaken so much and from the pain of his lacerations. His father made to turn back towards the hallway and tripped over a pair of sneakers, he picked one up, swearing as he threw it across the room, and was about to do the same to the other when he stopped, halfway to picking it up. Just a little bit longer, Jean kept telling himself. _Just stall him a little bit longer._

"There someone else in the house with you boy?" his father asked with his back to Jean. Jean's heart fell through the pit of his stomach.

"Those are mine," Jean panted, having rolled out of the glass and was now on his knees by the sofa.

"You can't afford shit this nice. So I'll ask again. Who else is in the house?" his father turned to face him, his expression no longer that of joyful torment, but of unmasked disgust.

"Nobody!" Jean repeated. His father started for him, Jean's shouts of "Nobody else is here!" cut off as his father punched him in the face. Jean crumpled to the floor, moaning and barely clinging to consciousness.

"You filthy fucking homo, you got your little boyfriend here? You fucking him?" His father spat, kicking him where he lay. Jean could barely breathe anymore, and felt the room spinning as his entire body felt like it was being put through a blender.

"No..." he gasped, tasting blood in his mouth. His father was still hovering over him when they heard a shout from the hallway.

"Jean!" Marco shouted, and Will whipped his heard around to see who it was. Marco was standing in the hallway, the phone no longer in his hand, the shock of how quickly Will had torn Jean apart evident on his face. Jean regretted dragging Marco into this. _He won't kill us, but he will kill Marco..._ he realized with horror.

"Marco...run!" Jean begged from where he lay.

"YOU!" Will shouted, getting to his feet and rushing towards Marco. _I've got to get him away from Jean!_ Marco thought frantically, and turned to run down the hallway to what he assumed was Nena's room. For a huge, drunk, lumbering sort of man, Jean's father could move surprisingly swiftly.

Marco made it into Nena's room before Jean's father grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked, sending him backwards to the ground, the back of his head thumping against the parquet flooring. Marco groaned, but tried to move to his feet. He looked up and saw that Will had grabbed a lamp and was now raising it over head to strike Marco with it. There was no room to roll away from the blow, so Marco had no choice but to brace himself for it. He raised his right arm and turned his head away. The lamp slammed against his arm with a loud crack, and Marco screamed in agony, clutching his arm to his chest and scrambled to get to his feet. From the back of his mind, he registered Nena leaving Jean's room, and running to the living room where Jean lay, groaning and calling out for Marco.

He had barely gotten to his feet when Jean's father tackled him to the ground, putting pressure on his mangled arm, pain shooting up through it. Marco screamed in misery, not even able to resist when Will flipped him on his back and straddled him.  
He punched Marco, splitting his cheekbone with his left fist, holding down his uninjured arm with his right hand. "You fucking homos ruined my boy!" He yelled, hitting Marco two more times in the same spot. Marco couldn't move, breathing harshly and moaning beneath his attacker. "I'll teach you to touch my boy," the scent of alcohol wafted into Marco's freckled face along with the threat, and then Will's hands were on his neck, tightening without hesitation. Marco gripped Will's wrist with his good arm and yanked futilely, his legs thrashing against Will's back as he cinched his hands around Marco's throat, strangling and jostling him.

"Will, STOP!" Nena shrieked from the hallway, running towards them and attempted to pry him off of Marco. He took one hand from Marco's throat and backhanded her face, slamming her head into the doorjamb of the bathroom, before returning his concentration to the red-faced boy below him. Marco gargled helplessly in his arms, his mind foggy with lack of oxygen, as he felt his energy fail him. His arm fell limply to his side and his legs no longer moved, his eyes closed and the world went black around him.

"Freeze!" echoed through the hallway, and Will looked up to see four police officers crowding his hallway, their guns out pointing at him, but simply spat towards them as he kept his hands tight around the neck of the still boy beneath him, giving him yet another shake. Then Will was on the ground convulsing - the officer had tased him, and the others ran forwards to cuff him.

Jean could hear his mother wailing from the bathroom. "Marco, M-Marco! Please!" His heart was pounding fiercely, his stomach feeling like it was filled with lead. _Marco!? What about Marco??_ he thought, panic rising up in his throat. An EMT ran past him to the hallway, and another approached Jean. "I need to see Marco, please!" Jean insisted as the EMT worked to disinfect his wounds. He pushed them away and limped towards the hallway, his body protesting the motion as every inch of him felt like it was on fire. He should have told Marco to go home. He should have just skipped town with his mother. Now he saw the consequences of their actions in Marco's lifeless, bloody face as the EMT performed CPR on him. Jean couldn't stop the tears that overtook his face, the shudders that wracked his battered body as he sat leaning against his bedroom door, watching as they attempted to resuscitate his best friend. It felt way too long for Marco to not be breathing. He held his own breath, screaming internally for Marco to wake up, his mother's sobs filling the hallway as another EMT escorted her out of the bathroom and past Jean.

_I'll never forgive myself..._ Jean thought with self-loathing.

Then he heard a shuddering gasp, and dry, wheezing coughs. He looked up to see Marco shaking as he gasped for air, the EMT placing an oxygen mask over his face and instructing him to stay on his back. Jean let himself breathe, he let himself hope, and then he passed out.

All three of them were brought to the emergency room, and Will was arrested for aggravated assault, resisting arrest, attempted murder, and a whole lot more that had nothing to do with them. Some armed robbery, grand theft auto, you name it. He was not going to see the light of day as a free man for a very long time.

\--

Jean remembers waking up in the hospital room, his mother by his side, stroking his forehead and humming as she read. Her head was bandaged, but she looked relatively okay. Jean sighed in relief.

"Mom..." he croaked, and she dropped her book into her lap and kissed his face.

"My Jeanbo, thank goodness you're awake, that was so stupid of you and I'm so mad but thank you, mon ange, thank you so much." She said all this between kisses, and Jean's heart felt full. Then he remembered all of what happened.

"Marco!" He shouted, sitting up and wincing

"Relax, Jeanbo! He will be okay too," she insisted, pushing his shoulders back down into the mattress.

"Where is he? Can I see him?" Jean's eyes searched her face for a reaction.

"Jean,"she started, then sighed. "I will go ask, you stay here."

When she returned with the physician, they gave her some salve and some antibiotics, and showed her how to apply the salve and bandage Jean's cuts, then told them he was free to leave when he was ready, letting him know he was lucky he didn't have any broken ribs. They brought in a wheelchair, and Nena wheeled Jean over to the room where Marco was staying. His parents had arrived already and were talking with the doctor when Jean and Nena approached. The doctor nodded to them and walked off, giving them a moment of privacy.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bodt..." Jean began, keeping his eyes on the ground, not able to meet their gaze. "I don't know how to begin to apologize, I am so-so sorry." Jean could feel his eyes prickle, but blinked the tears away. "I understand if you want nothing to do with us anymore. We'll do anything to make it up to you and Marco, anything we can to repay him." Jean waited for their angry shouts, for their blame and their bitterness. But they didn't say anything. Finally, he managed to glance up at their faces, the faces which looked so much like Marco, freckled and kind and sincere, and saw that they were smiling.

"Jean, we've heard so much about you. It's nice to meet you..." Mrs. Bodt said, and Mr. Bodt agreed with a nod.

Jean was not expecting that. They introduced each other, his mother to Marco's parents, chatted about things. Thank you's were exchanged for flowers and brownies, and plans were made to have dinner together. It was one of the weirdest, most unreal conversations Jean had ever had, and it was all fitting for the parents of someone so amazing. Jean couldn't wait any longer.

"May I see Marco?" he asked, more politely than he can remember having ever asked for anything. They nodded and opened the door for him, and he wheeled his way past the door as they shut it behind him. He heard the steady beep of the heart monitor as he approached Marco's bed cautiously. Marco had his eyes closed, so Jean didn't say anything, just wheeled himself up to the side of the bed to inspect him. He had bandages up one side of his face, his arm in a cast, and distinct finger-shaped bruises around his neck. But he was breathing, and looked like he wasn't in pain, and Jean was relieved. He couldn't let himself believe that Marco was okay until he saw it for himself, and once he let himself believe it, he found it hard to contain the emotion that was filling him. He cried as silently as he could, stubbornly sniffling against it a little bit, and rested his head on the bed by Marco's good arm. Marco's going to be okay...he told himself.

He felt a hand in his hair then, and looked up to see Marco smiling at him.

"Marco!" Jean sat upright, letting Marco's hand fall back to the bed.

The two sat in silence, looking back at one another. Then Jean was mad.

"You didn't do the plan, you stupid fucking idiot! You were supposed to stay in there with her, you were both supposed to be fine. I'm so fucking pissed at you!" and he swatted Marco's arm to emphasize his point. He couldn't look Marco in the face, he had to be mad and he couldn't be mad if he was looking at him. And he had to be mad, otherwise he was going to fall to pieces.

"You could have died, you WERE going to die, if the police hadn't gotten there. You stupid f-fucking-" Jean couldn't say anymore, he started sobbing, his elbows on the mattress and his face in his hands. "Stupid fucking idiot" he mumbled through his bandaged, stinging hands. "thank you...thank you." Marco let him cry, not saying anything. He just gently stroked his hand up and down Jean's arm. Jean looked up at him after a while and asked, "why didn't you stay in the room?"

"Sorry," Marco rasped, voice barely a whisper as he tried to clear his throat. "Nena was going to go out there, I told her to stay and that I'd go. Doesn't matter, she left the room anyways to unlock the front door. I'm sorry I let him hurt you." Marco took Jean's hand in his own.

"I should be saying that to you," Jean mumbled, inspecting Marco's freckled hand in his own and rubbing his thumb along the back of it. "I should be saying lots of things to you...thank you, I'm sorry..." Jean trailed off.

"You're welcome," Marco whispered, and sat up more. He reached for Jean's face, rubbing his thumb along Jean's lip as he'd done the night before. And then he leaned in and gently kissed Jean.

\--

Two weeks had passed since the incident. Marco had to miss playing in the last football game, something Jean apologized profusely about, but Marco insisted he didn't mind. Instead, he got to go the game with Jean and cheer their team on together, holding hands and blushing like dorks the whole time. Jean passed all his classes, and it was graduation day.

Jean walked up to the stage after hearing his name called, shook the principal's hand and help up the diploma he had many times doubted he'd be able to earn, as the audience clapped. He looked over and saw his mother, dabbing proud tears away with a tissue and cheering, sitting next to Marco's family who was also cheering - his parents and his sister. _Marco..._ he thought, and found his boyfriend in the crowd before him. Marco smiled that same soft smile they always exchanged, and Jean knew there was more than chemistry between them now.

There was love all around him, and he had Marco to thank for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted this done, so sorry if it seems rushed and sloppy. Also I tagged it as "major character death" to mess with you guys lol. Sorry


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